Delinquent Hope
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Sequel to Delinquent Love. Harry's sixth year brings stranger trials than expected. SLASH Draco/Harry
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it and merely write this drivel for both my amusement and the entertainment of others. Also, the title of this fic isn't mine but was graciously suggested by Jeriicho in a review.

Delinquent Hope

Chapter One

It had been three days since the end of the school year, and Harry couldn't wait for it to start up again. His aunt Petunia had been sending him peculiar 'looks' ever since he'd come downstairs to do his chores, and he could only hope that they weren't planning on sending him to another juevenile center. What if he met someone again? Draco was wonderful beyond what he could have ever expected from the Slytherin, but a Muggle boy would still be far easier accepted by the Wizarding people than the son of a notorious maybe-Death-Eater.

Scrubbing especially hard on a stubborn bit of old peanut butter that had probably been marring the bathroom counter for months in his absence, his gaze drifted to the window and he wistfully daydreamed of cool breezes and icy drinks.

"Boy!" The shout shook the scented candles in their glass containers that his aunt used for baths. Rolling his eyes, he gathered up his supplies and sent a final baleful glare at the peanut butter stain before heading downstairs.

"Yes, uncle Vernon?"

"I want you to clean the garage." He was purple from the effort of carrying his own weight from the car to the house, and he sank heavily onto the floral-print sofa in the parlor, picking up the television remote and clicking 'play'.

Carefully putting his supplies in the cupboard reserved for them and the mops, he got some more heavy-duty chemicals that made it hard for him to breathe and a broom. The garage was more than a little filthy from what he had seen lately, so he was going to have to move quickly if he wanted to have dinner made by six.

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Coughing hoarsely, trying to muffle it in his sleeve, he stirred the soup. The bones that he'd made the broth from were gleaming on the counter beside him, surrounded by a cradle of fat scraps. His stomach roiled at the sight, but he couldn't bring himself to look away.

The soup smelled nice, although his nostrils were still clogged with the smell of chemicals never meant to be smelt by humans. He wondered if he would be able to purge his lungs by the time the food was done.

Adding some carrots, he stirred them in and wandered away to wash his hands and then set the table. His aunt had come back from her flower arrangement class early and with a bouquet of sunflowers, goldenrod, and ferns artfully arranged. He didn't like her personally, but flowers were kind of soothing. Since his nightmares had only gotten worse, now featuring his wayward godfather prominently, he needed every bit of calm he could get.

"Boy, how is that soup coming?"

Looking up from folding the napkins, he replied, "It's almost done. I just need to add some salt and maybe a little pepper, it depends."

Her only reply was a curt nod, and she opened the cabinet with the spices in it and removed the salt, grabbing a nearby spoon and tasting it. She smiled briefly at the taste, smothering it when she saw her nephew raising his eyebrows at her.

"Is it good?"

She mumbled something and added a teaspoon of salt, avoiding his eyes. He barely suppressed his laughter at how awkward she looked, setting the last spoon beside a bowl and re-entering the kitchen to grab the salad. Dudley was on another one of his diets, hence the soup, and was required to eat a bowl of salad with both lunch and dinner. Seeing his obese cousin grudgingly consume fresh vegetables still made him do a double-take, even though he'd seen it at most meals since his return; there were some things that one simply doesn't expect to lay witness to, and his cousin eating something healthy was one of those things.

He headed upstairs to wash his hands, daring to meet his own eyes in the mirror. They looked a little dull, and his face was pasty white, lips two chapped rolls of flesh. He really hadn't been sleeping very well at all, and he was often too nauseous to eat as much as he knew he needed to grow even a tiny bit over the summer. Half-heartedly, he splashed his face with water, dried it, and slowly headed down the stairs to where his aunt was picking at her soup and the two blobs of limbs and fat were inhaling it in between large bites of bread.

Maybe he wasn't so hungry after all. Turning around, he headed back up the stairs and closed the door to his room softly behind him. On his rickety table that he used as a bed stand was the picture of his parents with Draco's profession of love tucked into the frame. He pulled it free and ran his fingers over the words, wishing he could hear them spoken out loud. God, he missed him more than he missed magic.

This was bad…he still had more than two months to go!

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"Boy, I want you to run down to the market and purchase these items." Petunia handed him a grocery list written on floral paper with little roses in the corners. It was almost like she was trying to deliberately embarrass him.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw that most of the items were either expensive or things that she only needed for special occasions. "Um…"

"Vernon's new boss is coming for dinner tonight, and I want you to hurry so we can start preparing!" She explained, voice rising in pitch until he winced. "Get!"

"I'm going, I'm going…" He muttered, accepting the money she handed him and tucking it into his tattered wallet.

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The supermarket was freezing, its many frozen food sections effectively chilling the entire building. His sweat from the sweltering day quickly evaporated, leaving his shivering and covered with goose bumps. Rolling his stiff shoulders, he got a cart and began prowling the aisles, checking the list for what she needed.

Since when had Vernon gotten a new boss, anyway?

Reaching the bread aisle, he found what he was looking for but unfortunately it was on the top shelf, high above his head. Groaning, he glanced around carefully, and since there was only an old lady fiddling with the cracker selection, he decided to risk it. Placing one narrow foot on the second from bottom rack of the shelf, he strained his muscles and reached for the bread only to lose his balance completely and fall flat on his back on the cold linoleum.

His vision swam behind his spectacles and he moaned. He was going to have a nice big bruise on the back of his head for a while now…lovely. Just what he always wanted, actually.

A face came into his blurry range of sight, and politely asked, "Are you okay, kid?"

He grunted, and then replied, "I'm as fine as I can be. Just let me lay here for a while longer."

"Just answer one question for me real quick."

"Fine. What?" He squinted to try and see their face, but one of the god-awful fluorescent lights was behind his head so his face was thrown into contrasting shadows.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" he held up three, so Harry said three.

"Good, good. I'm gonna guess that you don't have a concussion, then." He laughed a little, the sound pleasant rather than grating on Harry's ear. Actually, now that he was paying attention, the man's voice was almost unnaturally smooth. He wondered if it was some kind of weird accent or if he'd had voice training of some kind.

Feeling his equilibrium return from its unplanned vacation, he slowly raised himself on his arms and then stood, wobbling and getting a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"Whoa, careful. Were you trying to get one of the braided loaves up there?" He indicated the coveted prize, raising his eyebrows. Harry nodded, wincing when his brain fluids jostled themselves. He rubbed his forehead, and nearly jumped when the stranger asked how many he needed.

"Um, two."

"Sure thing." Two were placed carefully into his cart so their crusts wouldn't be cracked. "Do you want me to come with you while you check out, in case you get dizzy again?"

"You don't have to-"

"No, I insist."

Now that he could see him properly, he noted that the man was dressed in a suit, probably in his late thirties, and with a pleasant, open face. In short, he looked like the kind of person who would be sorted into Hufflepuff if he'd been a wizard.

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Aunt Petunia smacked him when he finally made it home almost an hour late, glaring and lecturing him on how laziness was the root of crime.

He wasn't really paying attention, far too concerned with the nice man who'd actually bought him a cold fizzy drink of some kind, saying some nonsense about sugar being beneficial to people with floor-related injuries. He had been joking, but it Harry hadn't asked the real reason. He didn't need to, and had been careful to make sure that he wasn't followed home. He doubted that Henry, his benefactor, meant him any harm or to act on his casual and delightfully vague flirtations, but he couldn't afford to be careless. The man had rushed off to his car when they were done and he had reassured him that he didn't need a lift home. Supposedly he had been on lunch break and was now late for the office or something.

The kitchen smelt like meat and spices, making his mouth water. He hadn't been hungry for a while, but now it was coming back with a vengeance. Checking to make sure she wasn't watching, he slipped a small piece of bread into his mouth, savoring the taste.

Dudley was out with his little gang of friends, so he didn't have to be on guard for his clumsy sabotages, but his uncle was nervously pacing the parlor, his heavy frame making the pictures shake in their frames.

The doorbell rang just when the timer rang for the meat, and Petunia snapped her fingers at him to demonstrate that she wanted him to deal with the food while she assisted her husband in greeting his boss.

Hearing the murmur of voices, Harry shook his head at his aunt's honeyed tones and his uncle's attempts at light conversation. They were in the parlor now, from what he could hear, and Vernon suddenly came charging into the kitchen, grabbed three wine glasses in one meaty palm and the bottle of Merlot with the other, leaving as quickly as he had come. Shrugging, he sprinkled some finely chopped chives on top of the chicken, setting it on the table and putting its crockery cover over it to keep it warm.

He was just transferring the potatoes from their baking sheet to a serving platter when the adults migrated into the dining room and he could clearly hear the bosses' voice. Instead a booming, arrogant slur like Vernon's last boss, his was identical to the man's from the grocery store. Burning his fingers, he hurriedly arranged the potatoes, set them on the table while keeping his head down as he'd been instructed, he made a run for it, maintaining his walk for as long as possible.

It was definitely him! And he had made the most embarrassing first impression, too.

Groaning, he flopped on his bed and wondered what he was going to do with himself.

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End chapter 1

Comment if you like 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

One measly week had passed, and as usual nobody had written him. He knew he shouldn't be so depressed about it, but he couldn't help it. To make matters worse, he had been having these dizzy fits because it was so damned hot all the time, and had almost passed out yesterday night and this morning.

He'd vomited instead, and some of it had been orange. He still had no idea why it had been orange since all he'd eaten lately was scraps of bread and a few apple slices Dudley had shoved into his hands so he wouldn't have to eat them.

"This is mad…" He mumbled into his pillow, staring out his one small window. The holes in the frame from where the bars had been 3 years ago were ugly shredded shadows. They looked sharp.

Taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, he set them on his bedside table and drifted off to sleep.

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"Potter, go down to the store and get some lemons!" His aunt threw some change at him, nearly hitting him on the head.

"Huh?" He dug his face out of his covers, eyed the change, and sighed. It was unbelievably hot outside, and his head felt almost too heavy to lift. He managed somehow, and stumbled downstairs, remembering at the last minute to pull his trainers on. If he hadn't, the sidewalk might have burnt the flesh from his tender feet.

The walk to the supermarket was grueling, and some preteen girls on bicycles whistled at him, which he found excessively odd. The store was as cold as ever, though, and he found the lemons with little effort, the change barely covering the cost of a small bag. It would be enough for his aunt to make lemonade with, though.

Just as he was checking out, he spotted Henry in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt standing at the register next to his. Thankfully, he hadn't noticed him yet, so he was safe. Fainting, cooking, and finally being seen in his tattered cut-offs and thin shirt with vague brown stains along the seams from rust were hardly the ingredients for a decent reputation.

Keeping his body angled away from him, he moved out of the store as fast as he could.

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Draco was seated on his bed, his finished summer homework stacked neatly beside him. He now had absolutely nothing to distract himself with…other than the book on Advanced Potions that weighed more than he did, of course.

Relaxing against his pillow, he checked the progress of the cracks in his ceiling. Every year while he was at Hogwarts it grew three more branches, but this year it had grown four. He liked to think of the fourth one as Harry, who had created an entire new place in his heart.

Pansy shifted and laid her head against his calf, eyes wide and pleading. With a sigh he handed her half a chocolate bar.

"Thanks. You're a love for letting me stay over, by the way."

"No problem. If my parents were screaming themselves hoarse and casting hexes all over the place I would want somewhere to stay too." He patted her head, her new short hair feeling strange against his fingertips.

When he'd woken up this morning, it was to someone whispering from his fireplace to please let them into his room. It was Pansy, and half her face was marred by a massive bruise from being thrown into a wall by a pressure spell that had missed her mother and hit her instead. Her parents were both a bit hot-headed in private and often solved their arguments by way of duels, although they didn't seem to notice the damage to their children and home.

Being a responsible and loving friend, he'd let her in, applied some anti-bruising cream to her cheek, and slept on his sofa for the night since he really didn't want to tell his mother that a girl she deeply disliked was staying the night.

Pansy then had a nightmare, and comforted herself by taking a pair of old scissors and cutting her hair into a short jagged mess of waves. It was very odd-looking, but she seemed to like it so he wasn't going to tell her off.

"How long do you think you'll have to stay?" He asked softly, moving his fingers to carefully trace the faded outline of her bruise. She shrugged.

"I don't know. A week, maybe? They were yelling about the taxes again, so they won't be too long."

"Yeah, like that one time when they argued for an entire month."

They shared a snicker, recalling her parents huge spat over whether or not they ought to have more children. They ended up having twins 3 years later.

"Are you thirsty?" she asked, sitting up on her elbows and tickling the back of his knee.

"Yeah. Are you?"

"Uh-huh. What do you say we go down to Diagon Alley and have some butter beer?"

"Sure. Why not?"

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And so here they were, drinking butter beer and complaining about life.

"I hate having to wear the same damned uniform as everyone else in the school." Pansy grumbled into her drink, taking a sip and winking at the waiter as he passed by. He nearly tripped over his own feet, flushing from his neck to his forehead.

Draco raised his eyebrows at her. "What happened to Blaise?"

She shrugged. "He found some nice Ravenclaw girl to screw. That pretty Asian girl who plays Seeker, actually."

"Oh, Chang?"

She nodded, taking a bite of her sandwich. "Mm-hm. They started talking at some party, and now her family and his family both happen to be in Spain at the same time. He sent me some pictures, and they look really happy together."

"I never would have pictured them together."

"Me neither."

They sighed in unison, and Draco wondered what Harry was doing.

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With a yell, Harry told Dudley to run. The rest of his pathetic little gang had already made a run for it as soon as the sky had filled with clouds, casting eerie shadows on the straw-like grass and dry patches of earth that were too dry to support plant life.

He was freezing, and didn't know how to run from a storm, but the storm was feeling remarkably like Dementors, and he was pretty sure he could see black ghostly shapes swirling in the sky so he wasn't going to stand and gawk.

They made it to a underpass for the train tracks two minutes after it started to rain, and he wrapped himself in his arms and leaned against the wall.

"Where the hell did those clouds come from?" Dudley asked, standing across from him, chest heaving and eyes wide. Harry then realized how much of a child his cousin truly was, and that things like Dementors really had no business existing in his world of sweets and beating the crap out of little kids. In a twisted way, his cousin was an innocent.

But before he could answer, the lights flickered out and a rushing sound filled his ears, quickly accompanied by his mother's screams for mercy and Voldemort's squealing laughter.

Slumping as all spirit left his body, he was dimly aware of icicle-like fingers closing around his neck and pulling him up so his feet dangled two feet from the ground. He did sense the maw of nothingness swiftly sinking towards his mouth, though, and turned his head to the side weakly but just in time. Seeing his cousin flat on his back with a Dementor hovering over him drawing the life out of him filled him with energy, and he flicked his wrist so his wand flew into it, shouting as loudly as he could with vocal chords he could no longer feel-

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

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End chapter 2

I know damn well that the Dementors attacked in the 5th book, not the 6th, but the whole point of fan fiction is doing what you want with the plot. So please no reprimanding me on altering the time line of events to suit my own needs.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The stag burst from his wand in a burst of light that chased away both Dementors, a rush filling Harry as his adrenaline was returned to him. He should run like that more often.

Seeing Dudley gasping and coughing on the floor, he hurried over and tried to see if he was still coherent. He wasn't, so Harry slung one of his meaty arms over his increasingly bony shoulders and slowly stood, taking the weight of his cousin with effort.

"Its going to be alright, Big D. we'll get you home and your mum can make you some warm milk, and then you'll feel just fine." He murmured soothingly, finding it hard to hate his cousin when he was shivering and quivering like a big jelly pudding beside him. He wondered what he'd seen to upset him so badly- he didn't know of a whole lot of things that had gone wrong in his cousin's life so far.

"Harry, what are you doing out in this weather?"

His head whipped around towards the voice, and he gaped when he saw Miss Figg, the strange old lady with thousands of cats who lived next door, standing there in a pair of yellow rubbers and rain coat. "Oh, uh, hello Miss Figg."

"Hello dear." She smiled vaguely, and he was uncomfortably reminded of Luna fifty years from now. "Why don't you come out of this dreadful rain, eh? I've always found Dementors cause the most chilling rainstorms. Most unpleasant…" her voice trailed off and her eyes unfocused for a moment as though she was remembering something.

"Uh…how do you know about Dementors?"

"Why Harry, I was under the impression that you were cleverer than you let on. It would seem I was mistaken." She sniffed disdainfully and he barely resisted rolling his eyes at her dramatics. "I am a Squib, and I strongly suggest you get your cousin inside before he has a coronary."

"Yes, ma'am." He stumbled up the sidewalk to Number 4, catching his foot on the bottom step of the stoop and twisting his ankle painfully. With a grumble, he opened the door and maneuvered himself and his heavy burden inside, ignoring Miss Figg watching them from outside where the rain had almost completely drifted away, a few scattered drops landing on the ground with soft 'thump' sounds.

"Duddy, darling, is that you?" Aunt Petunia cooed from her place sprawled in a sweaty pile on the sofa. Dudley whimpered, and she stiffened. Deciding that he really didn't want to watch the family drama unfold, Harry quickly placed Dudley in the largest and comfiest arm chair, propping his feet up and fetching a bucket from the kitchen in case he vomited, ignoring his aunt's desperate questions about what was wrong.

Finally sure that any accidents he could prevent had been prevented (the thought of scrubbing dried vomit from the carpet was nauseating), he placed his hands on his hips and rattled off his prepared explanation.

"Dudley and his friends were at the same park I was when it got dark and started raining. We started running home so we wouldn't get wet or sick, but then when we were in that underpass some Dementors, who were apparently causing the storm, came out of nowhere and started doing what Dementors do, mainly trying to suck our souls out of our own throats. I cast the repelling charm, they went away, and Dudley is a little scared right now. He'll be fine in a few hours after he's had some chocolate and a nice nap, okay?"

He took a deep breath. How Hermione could say so much in one breath so often was almost unbelievable. It took a lot of energy and lung capacity, two things he didn't have much of these days.

"W-what?" Petunia asked, eyes bigger than her fashionable earrings.

"A magical soul-sucking creature just attacked us, I drove it off, and now all your son needs to get back to normal is some chocolate. I'll save you the trouble and go get some." He walked swiftly into the kitchen, sighing when he heard his uncle come thundering down the stairs. He would probably get some kind of polite note from the Ministry of Magic soon to either scold him for using magic during the summer or sentence him to life in Azkaban. He wondered if he'd get a cell next to Draco's father if he got sent to prison.

Returning to the living room with a box of frozen chocolate éclairs in his hand, he saw his uncle turning an intense shade of purple as his voice gradually gained volume. He was hissing about his son going crazy, and Petunia was trying to calm him down, sending scared glances out the windows where the neighbor's homes were arranged in their perfect little rows with their perfect little gardens. Harry wordlessly crossed the room and lowered the blinds, drawing the drapes closed.

"Better?" He chirped, feeling almost high now that he was realizing the utterly horrible consequences his actions would have, no matter how justified. As if on cue, an owl fluttered through the open door leading to the back porch, a letter clutched in its beak. It crashed into a doorpost and fell like a rock to the floor, but Harry was too distracted by the talking letter to see if it was okay.

He was being expelled. Fucking _expelled._

"Justice." His uncle hissed, clutching his spoon with which he had been priggishly slurping ice cream a few minutes before he believed his soon to have cracked his sanity.

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His room was stifling, the air feeling like a woolen blanket suffocating his lungs and any organized thought patterns. Hence why he had stripped naked, not even wanting to wear underwear in this damned heat (and who cared about modesty? He had been expelled from the one place he considered home.), and sitting on the floor with his back to the generic wallpaper. His sweaty back had glued itself to the wall, and he wondered whether he would peel off skin or wallpaper when he tried to move.

Not that it mattered since he intended to never move again, hopefully left to die just where he was from heat stroke. He already missed the chill of the Dementors, no matter how horrifying it was to hear his mother dying over and over.

His doorknob turned slowly, and he looked away from his, resting his chin on his knees which were drawn up to his chest.

"Whoa! That is way more than I wanted to see!" A woman's voice exclaimed, a giggle underlying the mock-horrified tone. Harry looked up and some bizarre section of his mind excitedly squealed that she had blue hair and was therefore cool enough to be looked at. She was wearing Auror robes, although she looked pretty young for the job.

A grouchy voice broke into his thoughts, inadvertently rescuing him from the likely very insane section of his psyche currently doing a dance which involved an inordinate amount of hip-shaking. "Tonks, what are you talking about you silly girl- gah!"

Harry had to admit that the look on Mad-eye Moody's face was quite worth the embarrassment of being seen starkers in his own bedroom by 3 Aurors.

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End chapter 3

Whoo for naked teenagers! (silence)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Once Mr. Potter puts some clothes on, we can get a move on."

Harry blinked. "Move where? Oh, and I just got expelled from Hogwarts." He reached for his trousers, reluctantly pulling them on over his sweaty legs. Why oh why wasn't he considered worthy by his family of having at least a little fan in his room? His shirt was damp from rain, and it stuck like a second skin to him, which was kind of embarrassing since his ribs were jutting and his stomach curved sharply inward. He didn't want people to think he was starving himself or seriously ill. That would be ridiculous, and then his frequent headaches and stabbing pain in his scar would just make him look even worse, like he was deliberately keeping something from them.

"Whoa, you got expelled?" Tonks squealed, snickering quietly when Mad-Eye shushed her, whispering to him when the two older Aurors discussed something, "What did you do?"

"I chased off some Dementors, and I'm being crucified for it."

"Damn, that sucks. I hated the 'no-magic' rule when I was your age too." She ruffled his hair, grinning when he glared at her and attempted to pat it down again. She reminded him of somebody, but he couldn't remember who.

"If you're ready, Harry, we can take you to the Weasleys now." Mad-Eye's grumpy voice broke into his mental categorizing of everyone he'd ever known, and he paused it to grab his trainers and trunk.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

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It had been lovely to be in the air again; a broom the only thing between him and certain death, but the niggling upset of never setting foot in his beloved school again ruined the sensation and his excitement to see his friends again. He wasn't looking forward to the screaming fit Hermione was going to have when she found out what had happened.

Running his hands through his wind-tousled hair, Harry stood awkwardly as Grimmuald place number 13 slid out from behind another house, the pavement and cobblestones beneath his feet vibrating from the force of the magical waves. It was fascinating to see the things magic was capable of, things that existed right under the noses of the unsuspecting Muggles.

He wondered absently if any of his ancestors had been burned at the stake or tortured into confessing using magic.

Ascending the steps stung his ankle, and he had to bite his lip to keep from gasping as he slipped a little on the doorframe, jarring the bruises on his injured joint. Finally making it inside, his spine went ramrod straight when someone, possibly an elderly female someone, screamed at the top of her lungs,

"ANOTHER FILTHY BLOOD TRAITOR HAS ENTERED MY SACRED HOME! I SHALL ENDURE THIS NO LONGER-"

Her voice cut off abruptly, and Harry took a deep breath. That had come out of nowhere and startled him really badly.

"Are you okay?" Tonks asked, her hair suddenly bright blue and eyes wide and concerned as she gently steered him farther into the house, down the uncomfortably thin hallway.

At the end was a slightly ajar door, light and sound spilling out of it. Just as he was getting close enough to squint and discern movement beyond it, Mrs. Weasley slipped out from behind it, let the Aurors inside behind her, and closed it quickly. "Harry!"

Before he could reply, she was hugging him tight and cooing over how much she'd missed him. "Oh, honey, you're so skinny!"

Blushing, he replied, "It's hard to eat when it's really hot out, and Muggles don't have cooling charms."

"Well why don't you go upstairs where Ron and Hermione are waiting for you, and I'll send Fred and George up with some food for you in a minute."

"Ron and Hermione are here?"

"Of course they are, and they are very excited to be seeing you. Now get yourself up those steps! They're in the second room on the left, by the way" She gave him a playful shove, laughing when he pouted at her.

"Okay, thanks Mrs. Weasley!" she smiled fondly at him and then re-entered the room behind her, the door clicking shut. It was then that he noticed there were shelves mounted high on the walls close to the high ceiling with row after row of House Elf…heads? They were preserved somehow, eyes wide and glassy. The steps were steep and a little unsteady under his feet, the wood worn so thin in some areas that he had to pick his way extra carefully through.

Reaching the top, he cautiously headed down the hallway, whimpering when his ankle snagged on a protruding nail from the wall, managing to hit the sorest part of his bruises.

"Hello?" He knocked gently on the second door, not given a chance to catch his breath when it was flung open almost violently by Hermione, who promptly wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"I heard you got expelled! I was so worried!"

"Oh…you heard about that?"

This could be very, very bad.

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End chapter 4

Shit, not much happened, and I missed a day updating, but I have been working and studying my butt off so bear with me for just a little longer, okay?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

After her initial relief that Harry was alive, she had soundly beaten the remaining shreds of his manly ego with a baseball bat for getting himself expelled. Then she spent five minutes spewing off legal options and alternative schools he could possibly attend without fear of Death Eater attacks.

But right now she was quiet, curled up on the corner of the bed Harry would be using, Ron reading over her shoulder and Ginny sprawled over most of the remainder of it, her back stubbornly facing Harry. He was seated against the carved headboard and slowly flexing his ankle, trying to direct the bruises to heal themselves with pure will.

Someone knocked on the door, and George came in holding one half of a tray piled with far more food than Harry could possibly cram into himself, Fred supporting the other half. They wore grins almost as wide as their faces, and Harry decided that doing some careful poison checks on the food before eating it might be prudent.

"A little birdie told us that someone got himself expelled." Fred crooned, helping George set the tray down on the unsteady table beside the bed, and then apparatating with a crack noise to Harry's other side, George appearing suddenly on the opposite one.

"And I have to say, we are very impressed."

"We will have to work harder than ever to out-do this year." Fred had the audacity to chuck Harry under the chin, snickering when Harry smacked his face playfully.

"You can do all you want, but unless they use a formal guard to forcibly remove you from the premises, my record shall remain untouched-"

"Harry!" Hermione broke in, scandalized. "Don't give them ideas!"

"Too late, Hermione." Fred and George somehow managed to say simultaneously, and for the umpteenth time Harry wondered how they did that. The bed was rather crowded now, with six teenagers on it, and Harry had difficulty reaching around George to pick out a sandwich. The thinnest one, which he was aiming for, turned out to be eggs and creamed cheese, so he put it back. He liked eggs and he liked cheese, but he couldn't stand to eat them together. Finally seeing a plain one with bacon and cheddar, he grabbed it and took a large bite, contentedly pulling a leg up to his chest.

"You look too relaxed." Fred's statement nearly made him choke, and he paused in his eating to glower at him.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that its unnatural for one to be relaxed when we are this close to you. What have you been drinking?"

Hermione slammed her book closed, getting an annoyed whine from Ron. Somehow Harry doubted he had been doing much reading, though. "Fred, that is unacceptable! You do _not _need to be so disruptive all of the time, no matter what impression of the opposite you are under!" Her voice rose dangerously in pitch at the end of her sentence and everyone collectively winced.

"Um…Hermione, are you okay?"

"No!" She stood, collected her books, and left the room in a huff.

The room was dead silent. Finally Ron broke it. "What the bloody hell was that all about?"

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His time at Grimmuald place was kind of boring, interrupted every now and then by visits from Sirius and Remus, who did their best to be a family to him when they weren't working with the mysterious Order of the Phoenix, a secret organization run by Albus Dumbledore. He grew very nervous as the time until the start of Hogwarts grew nearer, the words of his ex-headmaster failing to reassure him. What did 'everything will be taken care of' even mean?!

Pacing the room he shared with Ron, he recited the entire list of spells he had learned in third year, having worked his way up from first. He'd been at this for the past 3 hours, and had gone through his entire knowledge bank, incantations and runes included, 5 times.

The door creaked as Ron slipped inside, and they exchanged strained glances. Not knowing whether he would see Ron during the school year ever again had put some pressure on their friendship, and words between them had been few and far between.

Instead of leaving immediately as he had in the past, Ron sat uncertainly on the edge of his bed and tentatively asked, "Um, Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Are you…are you going to be okay?"

Harry sighed, then shook his head. "No, no I won't be."

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Tonks bustled into his room early Saturday morning, dodging the pillow Ron threw at her for daring to wake him. "Have you got a decent pair of dress robes, Harry?" her voice was almost ridiculously cheerful for six in the morning, but he managed to nod anyways while blinking to see if she was some kind of mirage.

"Excellent! Please groom yourself and change into those, and I'll be waiting downstairs in the kitchen for you, alright?"

"Um…what?"

She sighed dramatically, hair streaking itself like a skunk's fur. "Don't be feisty about it, but you are being tried by the Ministry to see if your use of illegal magic was justified. If we can prove that it was, you'll be accepted back into Hogwarts as a student." She grinned, took his favorite blanket, and called behind herself just as she was leaving, "Hurry it up, we're leaving in an hour!"

Ron mumbled something that sounded like a curse word and pulled his pillow over his head.

The initial cold blast of water from the shower chased away Harry's sleepiness, and he dressed hurriedly in his dress robes that had been buried at the bottom of his trunk, still smelling like Parvati's perfume from the Yule Ball. He had needed them re-sized, and Hermione had instructed Fred and George, who did not have the same disdain for early mornings that Ron did because every spare moment they could spend inventing was greedily snatched up. Consequently, since they had trouble following Hermione's complex enlargement instructions, his robes were now more of a jacket, with sleeves that covered his hands completely.

In short, he really didn't want to be seen in public wearing them since paparazzi would probably find out about the trial somehow and take embarrassing pictures.

Tonks was waiting in the kitchen as promised, sipping coffee with Mrs. Weasley. They were talking about Fleur Delacour dating her oldest son, Bill, and how irritating she found that. He had to hide his smile as he grabbed a piece of toast and put some jam on it, her low voice hissing something about 'flouncy blonde' amusing him immensely since it was so out of character for Mrs. Weasley to dislike someone right away like that.

"Okay, I'm ready."

"Cool!" Tonks chirped, standing and picking a rusty old brooch off of her blouse. "Grab tight onto this, Harry." He obeyed, and she hissed, "Yorker!" with a whirl they were gone, and Mrs. Weasley helped herself to the jam he'd been using, whispering to the empty room, "Good luck."

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The trial had been exhausting and infuriating, not to mention that some tall man of African origin had smirked at him the entire time, even winking when he knew Harry was looking back at him. He reminded him sharply of somebody, but he still didn't know who. All he knew was that if he saw him under informal circumstances, he would be hard pressed to decide whether to smack his smirk off his face or ask for his firecall number.

"Haha, how are you feeling?" Tonks ruffled his hair, hanging onto his arm so they didn't get separated in the press of bodies filling the hallway just outside of the courtroom he'd just spent almost his entire day inside.

"I'm okay, except that some guy kept looking at me."

"Was he cute?"

"Yes, but-" His face flamed when he realized that he had just inadvertently confessed his sexuality. "Um-"

"Um what? Come on, how cute was he?" Her eyes were sparkling and bright blue, and suddenly he knew who she reminded him of.

"Not to change the subject…" He looked around furtively before continuing quietly, "but are you and Sirius related?"

Her eyes twinkled brighter and she took on an exaggerated stance of secrecy and stage-whispered, "Yes."

"Really?

"Uh-huh. He's my….um…second cousin? Well, my mom and he are first cousins, so whatever that means is what I am."

"Oh, wow, I didn't know that."

"Not a lot of people do, kiddo." She guided them into an elevator, chattering about her new tests for Auror rank examinations, a process that supposedly kept them updated on the latest battle spells and fighting methods.

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The next day he got two letters from the Ministry. One of them said that his use of unauthorized and underage magic was justified since it saved two lives (his and Dudley's) and was technically self-defense, and the other stated that he had been accepted back into Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry should he so choose to attend.

This best part, though, was that nobody outside of his current circle of contacts knew he had been expelled. There was no lie-filled article by Rita Skeeter, no Howlers from parents insisting that his behavior set bad examples for their children, and hopefully there wouldn't be any funny looks from his peers when he returned to school in three short days.

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End chapter 5

A little longer this time ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Come on, Harry! You're lagging!" Hermione shouted over the rush of people crowding the Muggle train station, her eyes narrowed and irritated as they had persisted to be for much of the summer.

"I'm coming as fast as I can!" He shot back, hefting his trunk higher and nearly smacking a tall man with it. Whipping around, although with a little more care this time, Harry started apologizing. "Oh my god, did I hit you? I am so, so sorry-"

The man grinned when he saw him, resembling a shark by the sheer amount of gleaming white teeth he was flashing.

"You!" He exclaimed, recognizing at once the man who had smirked at him the entire time he was being tried for unlawful use of magic. "I mean…um…"

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. I wasn't expecting to find so quickly, but I do have something rather important to tell you." Without giving Harry a chance to move away or start ranting about how the train was leaving in less than ten minutes, he grabbed his elbow and steered him out of the press of people and into a more secluded area. The cause for this was that it was apparently a staff-only area.

"Um, we're not allowed back here-"

"Never mind that. Listen, have you been having any upsetting dreams lately?"

Harry looked at him askance, and answered slowly, "Yes, a few. What business of it is yours?"

"I would strongly advise you to not believe them. The mind creates its own illusions, and no matter how real they feel, they should not be indulged."

"What are you talking about?" not only was this guy weird, now he was telling him what to do with his…dreams?

"You'll understand soon enough, but I must ask, as a favor if you will, that you not put any value in what you dream of." He looked around, seeing the thinning crowd. "You'd best get going before you miss the bus, Potter." He smiled, brown eyes twinkling in a way that made Harry vaguely nervous. "I hope to see you again soon."

"Hey-"

He disapparated, and a girl in a uniform came out from a closed door, saw him, and directed him back to the main channels for travelers, lecturing him about staff-only areas and why they needed to be preserved.

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The train ride was especially uneventful this year since Malfoy didn't come in and try to provoke them, and Ron and Hermione were in some kind of mild (for them) debate about Muggle medicines versus Potions.

Resting his head against his seat, he stared wistfully out the window. Draco was on this train, so close to him, and yet here he was sharing a compartment with his two best friends that he barely had anything to say to anymore. They had all felt the new distance between them over the summer, and Hermione had been caught crying a few times. He felt horrible about that, but he didn't know if he was the cause of it or not since she had been very emotional lately, seeming to be constantly on the verge of a breakdown.

"Harry?"

"Yes?" He looked away from the late afternoon sunlight, catching her eyes.

"Are you going to join any clubs this year? I heard there is a chess club, which Ron is looking at, and it might be nice for you to have something social to do outside of Quidditch."

"Are you joining any?"

She laughed. "Does starting my own study group count?"

"I think it does."

Effectively having dodged the question, he turned his attention once again out the window. Idly, he wondered why and how he had become so close to people who were so different from him.

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The Feast went by as a blur, the only distinct thing being Draco sitting at the table next to his, watching him whenever he could. Parkinson was sitting next to him, her hair some kind of spiky mess and she always seemed to know when they were looking at each other. For some reason, though, when he met her eyes by accident, she smiled at him sweetly like Ginny used to.

Had he missed something?

Finally, when it was over, he beat a hasty retreat to the hallways that had been deserted for so long, wondering how he was going to reply to Draco's note.

Someone else's footsteps broke the silence and he tensed slightly. Raising his right shoulder and pretending to scratch his face on it, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Draco following him, a faint smile on the blonde's face.

"Hey."

"Hi." He swayed nervously, not knowing what to say first. "I-"

"I meant it."

"Huh?" He noticed that Draco looked almost nervous, and very fidgety.

"What I said, I mean wrote. I meant it."

Harry blushed, and then came closer, slowly reaching a hand out to take his hand. He felt like a girl in grade school, confronted with her first crush (even though Draco wasn't his first). "I wanted to tell you something too."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He kissed him, drawing it out until Draco pulled away, gasping for breath. "I love you too."

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End chapter 6

Sorry I missed a day. I'm very busy these days, since I've started college and my work schedule is all weird, so I apologize in advance for any more days I happen to miss.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

That had been two weeks ago, and Harry was laying on his back, out of breath and scared out of his wits. He'd just awakened from a horrifying nightmare that had been so real that during its entirety he had been convinced that he was the malignant and insane reptile attacking Arthur Weasley as he did his rounds of the Ministry's premises. He could still taste the blood in his mouth, and his teeth ached from grinding them.

Ron was stirring in his bed beside his, and blue eyes opened in the dark to look around in confusion. "Harry?"

"I'm okay, Ron."

"You didn't _sound _okay. You sounded like you were about to cry, and that scares me, Harry." He got out of bed despite Harry's efforts to reassure him and crawled in with him, settling against his headboard and half-heartedly tugging on a stray lock of Harry's hair. "Why can't you tell me?"

Harry didn't answer, not knowing the answer. Why couldn't he trust his best friend? When had they grown so far apart, and why?

"Harry, when did we stop being friends?"

That he had an answer to. "Ron, we're still friends! I'm just going through a weird time right now, but the second I go back to normal, I swear we'll do some of the things we used to do when we were little, like talk about Quidditch and play chess together. I miss getting my arse beaten by you at chess, you know."

Ron laughed quietly, not wanting to wake up their room mates, although they could tell Neville wasn't sleeping since there was light from his Muggle torch spilling softly out of the crack in his curtain. Straining their ears, they could make out the quiet sound of pages turning. Neville was serious about getting a Masters in Herbology when he left Hogwarts, and was determined to get an early start on studying for the entrance tests. They were just happy Hermione hadn't gotten wind of his new study habits, or else she would start holding him up as an example of what they should all be doing.

Seamus wasn't in his bed at all, now that Harry bothered to look, and the Irishman hadn't bothered to disguise the fact.

"So…what are your nightmares usually about?" Ron's question was tentative, and Harry could tell that he would be hurt if he didn't answer but wouldn't call him on it.

"I dreamed that your dad was being bitten by a giant, and very evil, snake. It was very believable, and I almost thought it was really happening."

Ron sucked in his breath. "So…that's why you were crying." He brushed the dried tear tracks on his cheeks with a thumb, the gesture very much like something Draco would do when he was 'feeling like a hopeless sap'.

His chest tightened, and he bit his tongue to hold in the longing sigh that almost bubbled out. This was worse than the summer holidays, because he was so close but they couldn't see each other nearly so much after hours now that the hall monitors had been doubled.

"You're not alright anymore, are you?" It wasn't a question Ron needed an answer to. Instead, he wordlessly shifted himself until he could wrap an arm tightly around Harry's shoulders.

"Don't worry, Ron, I will be. I promise."

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The same day, after classes, Harry betook himself to the room he and Draco usually ensconced themselves in, thankfully still unnoticed by the staff.

"I missed you!" Draco cooed, laughing at himself when he realized how ridiculous he had sounded, no matter how true his words were.

"I missed you too. We need to do this more often." With a sigh Harry relaxed against their couch bed, rolling his head to rest against Draco's neck. Draco flinched, giggled, and moved away. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, I'm just ticklish there."

"Really?" normally Harry would have taken advantage of that information and attacked him straight away, but he had learned that Draco's Slytherin nature meant that whatever he used on the blonde would later be used against him.

"Yeah. And just behind my knees where all those veins are, or so I found out when I was twelve and decided that it would be cool to go to a Muggle roller rink with Pansy, where we learned that she cannot balance to save her life and thought that grabbing my legs would support her. However, since I'm sensitive there, she took me down with her and I nearly cracked my skull on the damned floor."

Harry gasped. "Oh my god, that's awful! But maybe the head injury explains some things-"

Draco scowled, and then pecked his cheek impulsively. "I still have a scar, actually, from where I broke the skin. Pansy was horrified, of course, and has been ridiculously protective of me ever since."

Harry had to laugh. "And that's how she turned into the girlfriend from hell?"

"Oh, Pansy and I were never together officially or unofficially. She just likes to pretend we are every now and again when she's either bored or trying to fend off Prince Rupert."

Harry choked on the butter beer he had smuggled out of the kitchens and into their little nest area. Wiping his face and lap with a handkerchief graciously handed to him by his smirking boyfriend (he would pay for that later), he asked, "Who the hell is Prince Rupert?"

"Uh, well, he's the man she's supposed to marry when she turns seventeen. But don't worry- we're planning to smuggle her off to Africa to live with Blaise's mum before then. He's way too old for her, and they have nothing in common other than strong feelings- his are too perverted to speak of, and hers involve large distances and restraining orders."

Harry broke into laughter, tumbling off their couch.

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Ron had been crying, and Ginny's face was puffy and red. Looking around the Common Room, Harry wondered what he had missed.

"Harry, last night Mr. Weasley was bitten by Voldemort's snake Nagini, and he's…."

"Oh god."

Arthur Weasley was dead.

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End chapter 7


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The funeral was painfully long, and crowded with family members as distant as eighth cousins 16 times removed, who were probably only attending for the sake of the free food.

Mrs. Weasley was leaning heavily on her second-oldest son Charlie, who had wrapped his arm around her the moment she arrived at the funeral center and not let go since, for which they were all very grateful. When she wasn't crying, she had this look about her, like there was a bubble-fragile surface holding her back from a seizure or something.

Face solemn and hands folded in his lap cupping Ron's sweaty palm, Harry stared straight ahead, ignoring the sniffling coming from his two best friends. He hadn't known Mr. Weasley very well, but from what little interaction they'd had, he could see that he had been a compassionate and brilliant man, taken across the Styx far before his time.

Ron sniffled, and Harry squeezed his hand, rubbing his fingers across his veins standing as starkly as his freckles against his skin. Ginny was beside Ron, and hadn't stopped crying since she'd gone up and seen the body, over which some co-workers were saying some things about Arthur that Harry knew were meant to fill the crowd with warm feeling for the departed, but were just depressing him farther. What was this going to mean for the Weasley's finances? Mrs. Weasley would probably start working since he knew she hated taking money from her children.

Filing after the ushers once the coffin was lifted onto their shoulders, Harry didn't let go of Ron's hand until they were at the Burrow where they were spending the weekend and needed to change into their sleep clothes.

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Relaxing against the pillows of Ron's bed, which smelled like the weird cologne Lavender Brown had given him over the summer under circumstances that Ron still blushed about when asked, merely shaking his head instead of giving him a straight answer, Harry stared aimlessly around the room. There were posters and drawings of the Chudley Cannons on every available upright surface, and the coverlet he was twisting between his hands was embroidered with their name. it was a little worn with age but very soft for the same reasons, and he could hardly feel the difference between the texture of its folds and Ron's hair, which was brushing his bare shoulder as the redhead stirred in his sleep.

They'd not spoken about it, and Harry knew it was because Ron didn't want to accept that he was gone just yet. Since he had lost his own parents far before he could rely on them emotionally as well as physically, he couldn't exactly relate, but the ghostly screams he heard when Dementors came too close still tore his insides in half, so maybe he wasn't as ignorant as he thought.

"Harry?"

He'd thought Ron was asleep since it was three in the morning and Ron valued his sleep like other people valued gold, so he jumped. Ron laughed quietly, his nose tickling Harry's bare shoulder.

"Did I scare you?"

"Just a little bit; don't worry about it. What did you want to say?"

"I…thank you for being here, with me."

"You're welcome." He slid down into the covers, resting their heads together while thoughtfully chewing his lip. "I'm surprised we can both fit into this bed. We've come a long way from third year."

"You're still short."

"I am not! Technically, I'm average. Jerk…" being teased about his height aside, he was just happy to see the starlight reflecting off of Ron's teeth in the dark as he grinned; he didn't know what he would do if this had broken his best friend.

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The school hadn't heard the details of Arthur's death, of course, because what would the Ministry look like if news of a large and venomous reptile attacking their employees got out? As such, the twins, Ginny and Ron got vague sympathetic looks from strangers, and a few kind looks from the Professors, but it only lasted a few days. Harry was happy when it was over, since he'd found Ginny crying in closets and quiet corridors and had been unable to leave her to her grief. She seemed to understand that his comfort wasn't out of romantic designs, though, so he could at least be calm in that respect.

"Harry?"

Hermione came over, her hair more disheveled than usual and dark circles under her eyes.

"Yeah?" He kept his tone submissive and neutral, hoping she didn't want to yell at him for something again like last time. It seemed that all she did these days was take her anger out on other people, and it bothered him since it was so uncharacteristic of the girl he used to think was passionate only about her books and justice.

"I just wanted to…to say sorry."

Now he was definitely paying attention. "For what?"

"For being such a, well, such a bitch to you and everyone else. I've just been having a rough time of it since Viktor started dating this nice Norwegian girl, and now that's all he talks about in his letters and-" She gasped, looking like she was about to start crying, so he sat up and grabbed her arm, leading her to sit beside him on the sofa in front of the fire. "I, Harry, my parents are getting a divorce! They did nothing but fight all summer, and now they're living separately and want to get a divorce!"

"I…" He hadn't even considered that Hermione's home life could be anything less than perfect.

"And I started smoking." She added as an afterthought before he could think of something to say that wouldn't sound completely ridiculous.

"Uh, isn't that like really bad for you?"

She shrugged, staring into the fire and looking more lost than he'd ever known possible for someone who knew so damned much about everything and how to live properly. "Yeah, but it feels good and I kind of don't care anymore about whether something's good for me or not. You only live once, as they say."

"Exactly, and that's why you should live a good life and do as much good for your fellow humans and creatures as you can." He patted his shoulder, grinning to show he was being sarcastic. Her lips twitched, and then she smiled.

"Okay, if you're so smart, how come you sleep so little? That does a lot more damage to you than smoking."

"Except smoking is a choice and not being able to get enough sleep is your own body fighting back at you for eating too many donuts or something."

"Or something. Oh, and can you not tell Ron about this?"

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End chapter 8


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Whether you celebrate it formally or no, just be thankful for…uh…something. Yeah.

Chapter Nine

"Harry, do you have any idea of why Hermione has been acting so…weird lately?" Ron's question was halting, and he didn't meet his eyes when he asked it, fiddling with the buttons of his school shirt. It was Friday and they were changing into their street clothes, Ron shaking with suppressed emotion and Harry with fatigue. His dreams had been so real that he felt more exhausted after waking up then before, and between classes and Quidditch he had no time to nap, although he suspected that it would also be fraught with nightmares.

Remembering his promise to her, he answered, "Not a clue, but I suspect it has to do with girl issues."

Ron blushed, then laughed and punched his arm, his depression broken for the moment. Harry wasn't as fortunate. He'd seen Hermione smoking in Myrtle's bathroom during lunch when he'd gone looking for her, and she'd been crying.

"You ready to introduce yourself formally to the love of your life-"

Ron smacked him upside the head. "Shut up! We're just going to, you know, very casually walk up to her and you're going to introduce us."

"And then she'll fall as madly in love with you as you are with her and you'll make beautiful babies together?" Harry finished, raising his eyebrows. "That is the end result you're going for, admit it."

"Harry, just start walking before I get too irritated." Ron was smiling despite his half-angry tone, and Harry laughingly bowed and then ushered him through the door.

Ever since a rather odd incident in Potions with their new Potions Master, an eccentric man named Slughorn, and a pink-colored potion that had looked really fizzy, Ron was obsessed with Hannah Abbott. Since they'd never really talked to her before and had limited classes together, Harry wasn't really sure why he had picked her, but who was he to question love when he was in a very unlikely relationship himself?

Descending the steps into the Common Room, they stepped around Neville and Ginny chatting about the Holyhead Harpies, which was not something Harry thought Neville knew anything about.

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They found Hannah in the Green houses working on her project, and after re-acquainting themselves harry offered to help. She smiled, though still looking kind of confused since they didn't usually talk, and handed him a spade to start digging through the flowers beds for her. Ron asked what he could do, and she asked for some water.

Harry tried to switch their roles so Ron could be alone with her and not vice versa, but Hannah was strangely adamant about Ron being the one to go to the kitchens and get her some water.

Humming quietly under his breath, Harry dug neat holes, his skills in basic gardening relatively intact after a summer spent tending his aunt's prize-winning roses. He was just sinking into a lovely and quite vivid daydream involving Draco's mouth when she gently touched his arm.

"Hm?"

"That's enough digging for now, thank you."

"Oh, sure. Do you want help with anything else?"

Her fingers clenched his sleeve, and he turned to look at her after putting his trowel away. "Uh, Hannah? Are you okay?"

She seemed nervous now, and kept her eyes on the floor for a few seconds before looking up, resolve in her gaze. "Harry, I want to confess how I feel about you-"

Suddenly the door opened and Ron was standing there with a tall glass of water, mough open and eyes filled with hurt. The door slammed closed before Harry could tell him to wait.

"Uh, it's been lovely talking to you, Hannah, but I need to go see if Ron's okay. See you!" Feeling more socially awkward than he had the day he asked Cho to the Yule Ball and was turned down, he made a run for the door.

Alone in the green house, Hannah sat on the three-legged stool Madam Sprout had been kind enough to give her, and burst into tears.

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"Ron, wait up!" He picked up the pace, trying to catch up with his much taller best friend. Ron did not look back, but he did shout,

"Don't talk to me, Harry! I thought you were my friend!"

"What? I _am _your friend! What do you think I'm doing out here trying to help you ask a girl out?" He caught his sleeve, stopping Ron in his tracks. "Ron, I know what you saw might have looked bad, but I swear nothing happened, although you might want to pick a new girl to fancy until she sets her sights elsewhere."

Ron took a deep breath, and then let it out. "You're not going to start seeing her now?"

Harry shook his head. "No, and there won't be any possibility of it in the future. Now, I bet you that she is probably upset about being turned down by me- if you want to be a horrible, manipulative prick, you could go back there and give her a nice hug to comfort her."

Ron grinned.

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End chapter 9


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Hannah Abbott fancies me. Or at least she did." Harry said aloud, lying on his back with his hands folded on his chest. Draco and him were admiring the rare November sun beams filtering through the windows to reflect on their prone bodies. Draco's hair caught the light as he turned his head to look at him, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

Draco didn't reply to that, but turned onto his stomach and started fiddling with Harry's hair, a smile in his eyes. Suddenly, after about five minutes of silent companionship, he bent his head and whispered into his ear, "Too bad you're taken."

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Someone grabbed his shirtfront, and instead of gripping the fabric, it slipped through his ribcage like it was gelatin and squeezed his heart so tightly that all blood flow ceased. Eyes wide and glazed, Harry slowly watched the color of his world bleed away into blackness, a pinprick of light at the end of it. He was about to move towards it, not knowing what was going on or what he was doing, when he was jerked away from it, back into the reality of color and sound.

And pain- a weak tilt of his head to look down at his chest revealed a blood-soaked hole with white bits of bone jutting out.

He passed out, magic swirling around him and throwing one Bellatrix Black against the wall of the dungeons.

A few minutes earlier…

Professor Slughorn asked him to wait after class, and then kept him there for an hour sorting his much disorganized Potions supplies, chattering all the while about how organized his wife was and how irritated she got with him when he left things lying about. By the time he was allowed to go, Harry completely sympathized with her and wondered why she hadn't gone completely crazy yet, being married to such an unintelligent louse.

"Well, if it isn't the baby Potter?"

He that voice from his nightmares, the one without the Dark Lord in them, the ones with a group of crazed individuals with cracked yellow teeth and raspy voices, as if they screamed often. It was not tinged with madness, it was saturated with it, and the ragged woman on the verge of hysterics was very similar to the old Death Eater photos he'd seen of Bellatrix Lestrange after doing some careful research in the library. He'd also dreamed of her turning up out of nowhere last night, but had brushed it off as inconsequential. After all, he had no Divination skills whatsoever, so why on earth would he have prophetic dreams?

"Heh heh…does little Potter want to see a tricksie? Little boys like tricks, don't they? Your father certainly did, you know…he was always playing them on the other little boys and girls when he went to school here, or so my sister tells me. You even look like him. So, how about an extra special trick for a very special boy?"

"Uh-"

And then she had been right there, but not there, since he could see through this translucent copy of her, the physical version cackling and resting heavily against the wall. He could see why, since her leg was a shredded mess with rubble sticking to it.

"How did you get in here-"

It was then that she had hissed an ugly word, and the shadow-Bellatrix reached inside his chest to squeeze the life out of him.

And so it was that Headmaster Dumbledore, and an entire squadron of hastily Summoned Aurors, came sprinting down the stairs to where the Magical Signature of Bellatrix Lestrange, recently escaped from Azkaban prison, laid dormant. They did not know how she had punctured the Wards that protected the school, but there she was, and so was the Boy-Who-Lived.

The back of her skull was shattered from where she had connected forcefully with the stone walls of the dungeons. Beside her corpse was Harry Potter, a hole in the middle of his chest and a pool of his own blood spreading rapidly down the hall.

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The Hospital Wing smelled like disinfectants, lemons, and traces of old Potions ingredients…and also, apparently, cucumber sandwiches. Opening his eyes hesitantly, and just a crack when he remembered how damned bright it always was here, he spied Ron sitting on the foot of his bed, picking the tomatoes out of his sandwich.

Grinning, he whispered hoarsely, "You still hate those things?"

Ron dropped his sandwich.

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"Sir, do you have any idea how she could have been killed like that? I mean, what made her slam into the wall that hard? It couldn't have been Mr. Potter. Our tests show that he was unconscious at that time that she died…" Kingsley's voice was a low, usually soothing, rumble, but it irked Albus to hear it because it reminded him of the massive glaring question which he had no logical answer to. But since he was considered a very wise and venerable Wizard who was supposed to know everything, he made something up for the sake of his reputation.

"Suicide is a horrible thing, Kingsley."

"Ah. So you think she was a berserker, then? Her records show that she was quite mad."

"Yes, we have tentatively concluded that she believed that she had killed Mr. Potter, perhaps out of some misguided desire to avenge her Master, and then somehow crushed her own skull." Now that he said it aloud, it didn't really make sense, but Shacklebolt was looking convinced still so he wasn't going to change his story just yet.

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End chapter 10

Yeah, its super duper short, but I write chapters at night and publish them in the morning, and, well, turkey makes me sleepy.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"Harry, you're awake!" before he could react, Ron was hugging him tightly, and his shoulder felt wet where his friend's cheek was resting.

"R-Ron? Are you," He lowered his voice so he wouldn't embarrass him, "crying?"

Instead of denying it, he simply nodded, heaved a breath, and pulled back after mumbling something unintelligible into his starched hospital pajamas. "I, we were so worried! We didn't think you were going to make it."

"Make what?" Okay, so he wasn't quite awake yet, but a stabbing spike of pain in the region of his heart made him wince. Fisting the front of his pajama shirt with thin blue stripes, he pulled the fabric up to see a layer of gauze and plasters fastened with pins and tape about two inches thick surrounding his torso. "Uh, Ron, what happened to me?"

Ron plucked a thread from the sheets, looking out the window. Judging from the light, it was late afternoon, although it was hard to tell with the sunset times shifting into their winter cycles. "Actually, we were hoping you could tell us."

"What do you mean?" Harry spied a cup of water on the table beside his bed and helped himself to it, the condensation from the ice cubes inside chilling his fingers.

"When one of the alarms went off, Dumbledore said that somebody with dark magic on them was invading the school. We were all sent to our dormitories, but you were still in the dungeons with Slughorn doing whatever stupid task he wanted from you today. Then it turns out that the dark wizard was Bellatrix Lestrange, the same Death Eater who made Neville's parents go, you know, loopy. We don't know what happened between you two, only that she somehow ripped a big hole out of your chest and that she shattered her own skull afterwards. Nobody really knows how she did that, but that is the main theory going about."

"She ripped a _hole _in my chest?! And how did she even get into the school? I thought we had the strongest spells against that ever or something. Hermione said something to that effect a while ago."

"Yeah. It looks pretty nasty since she basically nearly clawed her way entirely through it. And we have no idea how she got in here, other than maybe her Dark Mark let her apparatate past them somehow. You don't remember any of this?"

"I…I remember helping Slughorn organize himself, and it took forever as usual, and then…" white light flashed behind his eyes and he choked on his own saliva, body flopping back against the pillows and twitching spastically.

"Madam Pomphrey!" Ron yelled, panicked, running out of the room to find the mediwitch.

In his absence, Harry's body twisted practically into a pretzel before going still. Eyes tightly shut; he remembered every breath and heartbeat of those moments with Bellatrix, including her insulting speech about him being a 'special little boy'. What kind of pervert addressed teenaged boys like that anyway?

He remembered the ghostly copy of her, called up through some dark spell no doubt, and then the icy fingers tipped with claws tearing through his flesh, muscles, and cracking his bones to squeeze the life literally out of him. How had he survived that? Nobody survived having their heart squeezed like an orange that he knew of.

"Mr. Potter!" He heard the rustling of her skirts before the nurse came into view, followed closely by the Headmaster, Hermione, and a panting Ron. That was fast.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, thank goodness! Mr. Weasley said you had a seizure!" She spared a moment to turn her head and glare venomously at Ron, who curled back and as far into himself as he could with fear. Harry sometimes thought that she must have some of the ancient Berserker blood in her to be able to show such strong emotions, but wouldn't dream of mentioning his theories to her.

"I did, and it put an awful crick in my neck now that I realize it." He rubbed the tense spot, avoiding the Headmaster's eyes in favor of Hermione's.

"Harry, I need you to tell me what you remember."

"He doesn't remember anything-" Ron cut in, but Harry interrupted.

"I didn't before, but my seizure helped me remember. I was asked to stay behind class after Potions with Professor Slughorn, and then he was fire called by his wife and left for his rooms. I went out into the hall and was going to go to my dormitory, but then Lestrange was there and I guess I was so surprised I froze up."

Dumbledore looked impatient when he took a sip of water, so he extended the motion just to be irritating. He was in bed with a hole in his chest, so he deserved a little lee-way, thank you.

"So then she said some kind of thing about me being 'special enough' for some kind of surprise, and then she said some spell that I didn't catch and this ghost copy of her appeared out of nowhere and reached inside of me somehow to squeeze my heart. I passed out from the pain, and I think I nearly died. I don't remember anything else but waking up here."

"You're sure you don't remember anything else?" Dumbledore's eyes were not twinkling. In fact, they were hard and emotionless although his voice was as kindly as ever. It would seem you could not, in fact, fake everything.

"I'm absolutely sure. I really wish I'd heard that incantation, though. That would be helpful right now." He sighed, and an awkward silence descended over the group, broken by Madam Pomphrey excusing herself and the Headmaster leaving for his office.

Harry wondered why he hadn't been sent to St. Mungo's with an injury as serious as the one he'd received.

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End chapter 11

I promise this will make a hella lot more sense when I bring Tommy-boy back.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

"What have you done with Bellatrix?" Tom was terrified and bound to his chair by some unnamed magic. The old woman had literally floated into his 'quarters' (the old kitchen, locked in with the same magic that refused to open for him) on a cloud of smoke and announced that if he had any final words for Mrs. Lestrange he should tell her now and then she'd relay it to the madwoman, since she wouldn't be alive much longer.

Now, two days later, she had deigned to visit him in his unconventional prison once again. The refrigerator filled with decades-old rotting things of an organic nature was seriously creeping him out, too.

"I merely allowed her to fulfill one last task before I was going to ensure her death. The Potter boy beat me to it, however." She sniffed. "I knew that boy had some pep in him, I just wasn't expecting him to react the way he did, almost instinctually."

Tom snorted. "Are you telling me that Harry Potter, the weak little boy who has somehow evaded me for the past 16 years, killed one of my best, if insane, Death Eaters?"

"Yes, you fool, that is exactly what I'm saying. I thought you should know. Oh, and the Potter boy has now survived a direct attack on his internal organs. Thought you should know." She set a mug of steaming soup on the rotting table. "I brought you some dinner."

He was left alone in the room to ponder how on earth someone could possibly survive something like an internal organ attack. That's like surviving decapitation, only more unlikely.

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Sitting in his hospital bed, Harry twiddled his thumbs. He hadn't seen Draco at all in nearly a week, since Ron watched him like a guard dog when he wasn't in the same classes his boyfriend was stuck in. currently it was one in the morning, and Ron had been dragged out by his ear by means of a stern mediwitch and ordered to go to his dormitory at nine, so he'd been alone for a while. And very, very bored. It was lonely here, and even doing homework for final exams didn't alleviate it for more than a few minutes.

Something creaked. Looking up, he scanned the room, starting with Madam Pomphrey's office in case he needed to fake sleep. Maybe he should let her know he wasn't sleeping well?

The creak came again, and he saw that the door was slowly inching open, revealing first a long leg and then the familiar blonde head of his boyfriend.

"Draco!" He stage-whispered, startling him enough that he nearly slammed the door behind him as he stepped cautiously inside.

"Hey!" He looked around as he crept quietly closer, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone who might decide that he was attacking Harry or want to throw him out. When he reached his bed side he immediately stroked Harry's hair. "Are you okay? All they would tell us was that you had a run-in with a Death Eater, and were injured. What happened?" He was practically twitching with worry, fingers fluttering over various parts of the Gryffindor.

"Well, Bellatrix Lestrange did a number on me and then somehow killed herself is what we've decided on."

"Whoa, what do you mean by 'number'?" Draco asked, a panicked edge creeping into his face. His fingers brushed across his chest, and then his eyes widened when they snagged against the lumpy bandages. "Harry?"

"Well, uh…"

"Harry…"

"She ripped a hole in my chest."

"Oh my god!" Draco hugged him tightly. "How did you survive?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, harry couldn't help but snort. Draco's reaction was identical to Ginny's, until she remembered that she was supposed to hate him and pulled away like he was a crocodile. "I don't really know. Nobody does, actually. And I think I should be in St. Mungo's, not a school infirmary."

Draco sniffled, and Harry wondered if he was crying. "Draco?"

"Hm?" The blonde pulled back and let his other half get into bed with him, carefully wrapping an arm around his abdomen, a safe distance away from the sensitive patch of skin above his heart buried in cotton gauze.

"Why didn't you come visit me?"

"But I have been visiting you." Draco nuzzled his shoulder and then kissed it through his sleeve. "I've been coming in for a few minutes at 4 in the morning ever since you got in here, since Madam Pomphrey is usually sleeping at that time. I haven't been able to see what was wrong with you, though, since I know how little you sleep and feeling you up might make you wake up and think some pervert was trying to rape you."

Harry grinned. "You sneaky little weasel."

"Hey, at least I'm _your _weasel. And you're lucky you're in a hospital bed, or else I might have to get you back for that."

"You're more like a ferret, actually." Harry's eyes unfocused as he remembered the transformation incident of fourth year and how cute Draco had been as a rodent; he would never have admitted it at the time, but he had desperately wanted to pick him up and cuddle him.

Draco flicked his forehead. "That was very traumatizing, I'll have you know."

"What was?" Harry snapped out of it, turning his head and nearly smacking their foreheads together. Draco laughed quietly, pressing them together and kissing his cheek.

"That thing not-Moody did to me when I was teasing you."

"How did you know I was thinking about that?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. I just did. Do you want some tea? I brought some so I wouldn't freeze, but its rosemary and I know you like it. I don't mind sharing." He offered the Muggle thermos which had been a gift from Gregory Goyle last Christmas. Harry could only wonder what on earth his large classmate was doing in the Muggle world.

He accepted the tea, mind still occupied alternately with Draco-as-a-ferret and their mind-reading incident.

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End chapter 12

Am I the only one who really, really wants to see the Swedish vampire film titled 'Let the Right One In'? (bounces)


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

It was Friday afternoon, and Headmaster Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, and Neville were standing around his bed, twitching whenever he stumbled as he got himself together as if to catch him.

He was being released from the hospital at last, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Draco hiding in the shadows and smiling at him sweetly. He wanted to kiss him, and he would have smiled back, but looking in his boyfriend's direction might catch Dumbledore's attention and answering questions about his sex life asked by an old man weren't on his mental to-do list.

Hermione had dutifully brought him his homework assignments during his too-long time in the hospital wing, so he didn't have to worry about being behind in classes. The looks his peers were giving him almost wished he had waited until dinner time so he wouldn't have such a large audience. He rubbed his chest uncomfortably.

"Are you feeling pain?" Hermione asked, loud enough for the Headmaster to hear and be in front of Harry taking examining spells in seconds.

"Uh, no, I'm fine." He waved his hands nervously, seeing Hannah Abbott coming towards them and smiling at Ron. She glared at him briefly before softening when she saw how unhealthy she looked. If her tie didn't already give it away, he would have known what House she belonged to in that moment.

"Hi Ron!" She kissed his cheek, laughing when he blushed. They chatted quietly to each other as they walked, Dumbledore leading the way to Gryffindor Tower (Harry wasn't quite sure why the headmaster needed to escort him in the first place) and Hermione walked by Harry's side.

"Well, Harry, I hope you feel free to alert myself and Madam Pomphrey should you experience any relapses or oddities. Have a lovely afternoon!" With a twinkle in his eye, he left them, yellow robes swishing. Harry made a mental note that other things about the Headmaster were swishy too…

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Gellert rubbed his palms together, shivering and wishing that Muggle fires could provide the same heating magical ones did. He didn't want to use magic for everything, however, after living so long without it he was a little nervous that he would exhaust himself if he used too much. And he needed to save the majority of his strength for the little reunion he had planned with a certain person.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he counted his black candles, the oil used to make them mixed with the hearts-blood of a pig. He had 19 of them, more then enough for his project. The art of puncturing ancient wards was a very complicated procedure- or at least so it appeared on the surface and after a few hours of digging.

Since he was alone and there was nobody to call him crazy, he started talking aloud. "Wards are essentially a simplistic web with triggers covering the connecting points. If you know where to poke, the whole thing can bend long enough for someone to slip through the cracks."

He took another sip, untying the bundle of candles and arranging 5 in upright positions around the surface of a small circular card table he'd bought second-hand at an Oxfam shop. It was pretty sturdy and could hold his weight when he stood on it, so he had decided to use it for the transportation ritual. Finishing off his coffee, he set the mug down on his main work table, cluttered with books and maps nearly to the point of collapse, and then carefully stepped onto the table with the candles arranged around it. Snapping his fingers, he lit them, and promptly vanished in a tiny puff of smoke.

He felt like he was being stretched thin and then flattened like bread dough under a rolling pin, and then there was a sensation of utter liberation when his soul left his body temporarily.

The soles of his boots, dragon hide and stained with both mud and battle spells, landed softly on the thick carpet of the Headmaster's office. It was warmer here, and empty of all life but the portraits that he swiftly froze in their frames before they could give out a warning. He unfastened his coat, pulled it off, and folded it neatly over the back of a handy armchair before seating himself and helping himself to the Daily Prophet. It was as full of drivel as ever, but he was bored and didn't know how long he was going to have to wait.

It wasn't long, less then half an hour to be more specific, before the door opened and Albus stepped inside. He looked like an old man wearing a yellow robe, and Gellert wondered absently why in his decadent youth he had attracted someone so strange. Did that make him strange by proxy or…? Dammit, now he was confused.

Since his ex-nemesis didn't seem to have noticed him yet, too occupied with cursing in Russian and pacing the area just behind his desk, he cleared his throat and rustled his newspaper. Over the top of an article about a young woman who, while attempting to shrink her forehead for cosmetic reasons, blew her own brains out, he was satisfied to see Albus jump nearly a foot into the air.

The old man drew his wand, aiming it at him. Gellert raised an eyebrow.

"Darlin', you know what they say about sticks and stones, right? Well, they aren't going to be doing much bone-shattering today. _Reducto!"_

Albus's desk exploded, and he grinned. Blowing things up was one of the few things that he had ever truly enjoyed in life- other than island girls, the kind that liked to wear big flowers in their hair- and the sight of the heavy oak desk obliterating itself was deeply satisfying.

"I hope you weren't emotionally attached to that."

"Gellert. What. Are. You. Doing?"

"Reading the paper. What are _you _doing?"

Albus opened his mouth, shut it, tried again but didn't say anything. Deciding that this was going to get boring really fast, Gellert said, "_Crucio."_

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End chapter 13

Behold the return of everyone's favorite blonde! Minus Lucius Malfoy, of course. For those of you who didn't get that, canon Gellert was blonde.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

He fired the spell to fast for it to be dodged, and it hit him right between the eyes. Albus screamed, the sound ragged and hoarse as he thrashed, body collapsing into itself from the pain and hitting the floor with a loud crash as he took down Fawke's perch with him.

Gellert watched impassively for half a minute, counting the seconds in his head, and then removed the spell. Dumbledore didn't move other then a few twitches, most likely caused from nerve damage.

"Are you sleeping?"

Albus groaned and then grasped the leg of chair, using it to slowly raise himself into a seating position. He didn't open his eyes until he was settled, and when he did they were glazed slightly.

"I'll take that as a no. anyways, now that you are in a more pleasant frame of mind for this little reunion, I would like to ask you something. I want you to answer honestly, or else I might be required to perform a repeat of what you just had the pleasure of enjoying."

His only answer was a weak shudder, and Albus croaking, "What is it?"

"Where is the Elder Wand?"

He was silent, fingers tugging nervously at his lacy cuffs patterned with stars. At last he mumbled something, his beard muffling the words.

"Pardon me?" Gellert was determined to be patient with him, since the years didn't seem to have been as kind to his peer as they'd been to him. While he looked a quarter of his natural age, Albus looked every year of his own.

His blue eyes were not sparkling when he lifted his head and whispered, "I was not considered worthy to hold such an artifact. They took it from me."

"Who took it? Who are they?"

Albus just shook his head, tugging on his beard absently. "I really…I really missed you, you know. All these years you've been gone, I couldn't find anyone who understood me the way you did…"

"You know, Albus, I would feel sorry for you if it weren't for the small detail of you telling everyone I was crazy and evil, blaming me for your mistakes, and then locking me up in my own prison." He took a long gray lock of hair into his fingers, playfully twirling it through his fingers. "You've gotten old."

Albus sighed. "I know. I'd like to ask you a question now."

"Sure. What do you want to know?" Now that he knew Albus wasn't holding his Elder Wand somewhere, since he had always been able to tell when his ex-friend was lying, he was feeling a little more open to a friendly chat. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud, but he'd missed having someone to talk to as well; someone who could actually comprehend his ideas and contribute their own.

"How did you get in here?"

He stared a moment and then laughed. "Good god, Albus! Are you telling me you've forgotten our old tricks?"

"You mean that you can get into _here _with just a few damned candles?"

"Indeed. Say, have you got any of those lemon drops around? I always liked them…" Gellert rubbed his chin, looking at Albus expectantly.

"Try the second drawer- oh. Never mind. You blew up my desk. Maybe there are some in the rubble over there?" Albus waved a hand sluggishly, body slumped in the chair and looking quite comfortable even if he did twitch a little every now and again.

Finding them, still in their bag to boot, Gellert took out a handful and stuffed the majority of his loot into his pockets, unwrapping one. He tossed the wrapper into the fire, popping the lozenge into his mouth.

"Oh, that's lovely." He sighed, and then sat on the arm of Albus' chair. They were quiet, the room filled only with the muffled insults from the portraits and Gellert's soft sucking sounds as he worked on the candy. "Do you have any idea of where these 'they' are and why they want my wand?"

Albus shrugged. "It was a long time ago, just a month after I'd had you locked up. This odd woman showed up, translucent as a ghost but fully alive, or so she said, and then the Elder Wand was in her hands. The only explanation she gave me when I asked was that I wasn't worthy to hold it, that I was too flawed." He sighed, shoulders sagging under the weight of the world. "She was right. I'm just as old man who got too interested in those metaphors about life being a chess game."

Gellert laughed quietly. "Who are you and what have you done with the arrogant kid I used to know?"

Albus snickered, and accepted the lemon drop Gellert offered. An instrument began to whir and make a low humming noise, prompting a sigh from the headmaster.

"That means I've got company. You might wish to make yourself scarce, and I'll do my best to explain away my office-"

"Which looks about like a tiger just came through and mauled it. I know." He grinned. "But don't think this is over. I don't consider you punished quite enough yet, you know." He snapped his fingers and vanished, filling the large tower office with noxious smoke.

Albus wondered how he was going to explain this to Minerva.

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"Finally!" Draco probably would have tackled Harry if he hadn't been tiptoeing around him physically because of his injury…which wasn't there anymore. As it was, the blonde tentatively put his hands on his shoulders and squeezed. He was smiling so wide Harry nearly had to blink at the intensity.

"Yeah, it's nice to be alone at last." He let himself be led over to their little island of sofa cushions, kissing him on the cheek.

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End chapter 14

Whoo! Gellert dominates the chapter once again!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

"Albus, where did your desk go?"

He blinked. Surrounded by the remains of his office, some lemon drop wrappers scattered nearby and the smell of Gellert still filling his nose, Albus stared up at Minerva. She narrowed her eyes.

"Alright, what happened? And don't you dare say 'nothing', because this," She indicated the mess, "is certainly not nothing."

"Uh…"

"Albus." It was a low, feline growl, and once again Albus found himself wondering why her Animagus was a house cat rather than a lioness.

"Gellert did it."

She blinked. "Grindelwald was here?"

He nodded. It was never much use trying hide something from her, so he wasn't going to try just now. Besides, he didn't have his wand and therefore couldn't conceivably obliviate her.

"I thought he was in prison…oh well. Albus, your new desk is going to come out of your personal pocket, not the school's funds since Gellert is technically a personal problem. And my reason for coming up here is to let you know that Poppy found some very unusual patterns in Mr. Potter's magical signature that we think you should have a look at."

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Harry rolled onto his back, panting softly; Draco was curled up beside him, the long swath of his bare back shining softly in the faint starlight filtering through the windows. They'd snuck out of their dormitories to spend the night together, and the dark scars on Harry's chest had only twinged a few times as they play-wrestled, for which he was grateful.

Staring up at the ceiling, he lightly traced the ridged bump over his heart, the texture of the scar still unfamiliar. He must look a sight shirtless…

"You do _not."_

Draco's sudden voice made Harry jump. He thought his boyfriend had nodded off.

"Uh, Draco, I didn't say that out loud."

They were quiet, and Harry could almost see the cute little furrows forming in the Slytherin's forehead as he pondered this.

"Then…it happened again?"

"I guess so." Harry shrugged, fiddling with the edge of a pillow. "Do you have any ideas about why this is happening?"

"Nope."

"Damn."

"Yeah…" Draco turned over to face him, tugging the blanket up and snuggling into it. It was the last day of November, and two in the morning. He was understandably a bit chilly.

Despite the strange moment, Harry stretched his neck out and kissed Draco on the chin, smiling at him. "Wanna go to sleep?"

Draco nodded, eyes slipping closed as he rested his head against his shoulder.

Harry didn't sleep at all that night. There was a pricking sensation at the base of spine that made him tense- something was going to happen, he could feel it. He couldn't tell what, though. All he could do was hope that it wouldn't be too ground-shattering.

00000000

"How are you?" Hermione asked quietly, indicating the dark circles under his eyes when he opened his mouth to say 'fine'.

They were at breakfast, the first Sunday of December, and Harry had eaten half a tomato and drank two large cups of black coffee. Ron was sitting at the Hufflepuff table with Hannah today, and their heads were closer together then could be misunderstood.

He sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You've seemed kind of, you know, on edge lately." She took a bite of her eggs, making a face when she realized the syrup from her pancakes had mixed into them. "Gross."

"I've just…there's this…"

"There's what?" She asked absently, using her fork to separate her yellow eggs from their sugary doom.

"I just have a bad feeling is all."

She looked up. "Does your scar hurt any?"

"No, and that's just the thing! I have horrible and very realistic nightmares when I do manage to get to sleep, but Voldemort's not in them anymore."

Neville, sitting beside him and talking quietly to Seamus, jumped when he overheard Harry say the Dark Lord's name. "Harry, do you mind?"

"Not at all." Harry grinned cheekily, the expression fading when he could see the teacher's table just beyond Neville's shoulder, and a pair of twinkling blue eyes fixed sharply on him. He swallowed and helped himself to a piece of toast.

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End chapter 15

Harry's spidey-sense is tingling…(spider man theme song plays)


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

There was somebody else in the woods with him. Harry, after an exhausting snow ball battle with the other Gryffindors in celebration of the first snow, had gone to visit the Thestrals.

In the clearing ahead, where they liked to gather, was Luna, her long hair a halo of gold in the last afternoon sunlight. In her bare fingers limply dangled a strip of rotting meat, which he recognized as steak from last week's dinner.

"Hey, Luna."

Without turning, she softly replied, "Hello Harry."

With a start, he noticed she was barefoot, and in the snow no less. "Luna, aren't you cold?"

"Yes…"

"Well, do you want me to walk you back so you can get some shoes? You'll get frost bite." He reached out to guide her by her shoulder, but she shifted casually to the side. He wondered if she was upset because they hadn't been talking very much lately, her spare time spent studying or wandering aimlessly and his every free moment spent glued to Draco. Now that they'd _amplified _some of the physical aspects of their relationship, he just couldn't seem to get enough. He supposed it was good that Draco liked it when he hung off of him like a human scarf. "Luna?"

"I haven't got any."

He blinked. What the hell? "Um, pardon?"

"They took them. I haven't any left."

"Oh…um, okay." He shivered and put his hands in his pockets, watching as a Thestral slowly nibbled on the meat she held out to it. "Do you want to look for them?"

She nodded. "Yeah, as soon as he's done eating. Thanks." She finally turned around, smiling. He didn't notice, though, fixated on the large bruise marring the entire left side of her face. His mouth dropped open.

Seeming to realize what she'd shown him, she swiftly turned away, shoulders tense.

He took a deep breath, not knowing how he was supposed to react to this but knowing that anger would only make it worse. "Who-"

"I don't want to talk about it. Please, Harry, I just don't want to discuss this yet."

"God, Luna." He rubbed his forehead. "Do you promise to tell me later, when you're more comfortable with it?"

She nodded, and spread her fingers so the Thestral could lick the last of the blood off, its skeletal wings flexing with sickening cracks as it angled its body.

"Alright, let's go."

Several hours and three pairs of shoes later, Harry and Luna ran into Draco having a walk.

"Hi- oh." The blonde broke off mid-greeting at the sight of Luna, who was huddled close to Harry for warmth. His eyes narrowed and Harry caught what the blonde was no doubt thinking, shifting his weight so there were a few extra inches between him and the Ravenclaw. Draco visibly relaxed, and Harry decided that he was going to have to tease him about being possessive later.

"Hello Draco." Luna took her shoes from Harry's arms, holding them by their laces. She patted the Slytherin's cheek as she walked past. "You two have fun, now!"

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Gellert tapped his chin, looking down at the still water lying in its silver bowl. This was a basic Divination-based location ritual, and judging by the signals it was giving, his precious Elder Wand had already been destroyed or was otherwise powerless. Not that that was much of a loss, anyway, since nobody was quite sure what the Elder Wand did in the first place. He was pretty sure it had something to do with immortality, though, or else people wouldn't have tried to get their hands on it quite so much.

"What has been done to you?" He murmured, pacing his crowded work area. It had been getting increasingly difficult to maneuver within its shrinking confines, the books he decided might be useful someday cramming the shelves first, then arranged in stacks on tables, then under them, then in corners, and finally directly in his path. It was getting a bit much with the instruments, though.

"Um, master Gellert?" he had recently acquired a wandering House Elf who had been freed somehow and wanted a more informal working situation. The House Elf's original name was Eddy, but he had politely requested to be called Inky because of its impressive collection of tattoos. Inky had a bit of a drinking problem and apparently felt the urge for needles whilst inebriated.

"Yes, Inky?"

"Did master call Inky? Inky thinks you did." It nodded to itself, the frightening rows of rings in his large ears tinkling as it did.

"Uh…no, I didn't."

"But the lady said you did!"

"What lady?" Nobody could get through his defense, he was sure of it! He was not only blocked against Muggle and Magical Humans but also the majority of Magical Creatures, just to be safe. From what little was known about them, Vampires don't take well to being abandoned, intentional or no, and disappearing into prison in the middle of a war in which they were allied to him counted as abandonment in their records. So what manner of woman had passed his spells?

"That one." Inky pointed at the door, in which stood…nothing. He frowned and then looked down, catching sight of a shriveled old woman dressed in very muddy pile of rags. She grinned, ancient eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Well, so you aren't dead!"

"Have we met?"

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End chapter 16

Oh, Gellert has a visitor!


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

"I don't think so, honey." She wandered through his crammed paths through the books, selecting a short stack of them to sit on. Her feet dangled half a foot off the floor anyway, and she began to swing them lazily, the rags wrapped tightly around her cracked boots to presumably absorb water brown with mud and flecks of dirty snow.

He suddenly realized which book she was sitting on, and his eyes widened comically as his imagination narrated a flurry of possible fatal situations that could arise from her seating choice.

Clearing his throat, he spoke up, "I'm not trying to be rude, but could you please get off my property? The one on the bottom likes pressure on it, but not that much." The stack of books started twitching at he spoke and she hurriedly hopped off.

"Goodness!"

"Yeah, sorry about that. He can get a little tetchy. Ow!" It had bit his foot, and Inky was grinning at him now. He glared at the House Elf, waving his hand to Summon a chair, and snapping, "Why aren't you getting us some tea?"

Inky rolled his eyes but left to make some nonetheless.

"Would you like to sit somewhere a little less dangerous?"

"That would be nice, yes."

He nodded and led the way to the second storey, opening the first door on the right to reveal a room with a couple of sofas with cat scratches marring them in various spots. The stray tabby cat curled up in the corner of a russet cushion dozing was looking entirely too innocent for its own good, so he could conceivably blame her for the new bits of stuffing littering the floor.

"You can, well, just sit wherever you want. It's all the same to me." He picked a seat by the window, the chill passing through the glass causing goose bumps on his bare arm. She sat across from him, folding her legs Indian-style and startling him with her flexibility. For an ancient midget, she was mighty spry.

"Lovely. Now, according to every historical record with any mention of you, you've been dead for quite some time indeed. Do you care to inform me by what means you sit there fully living in every way that matters?"

From the hawkish look she was giving him, he could tell that the only thing lying would accomplish in this situation was inducing her to kick him in the crotch.

"I honestly don't know why Albus kept me alive. Maybe to stroke his own ego, maybe because he thought I would reform, or maybe just because he couldn't bring himself to kill me."

She nodded, and began chewing on a loose curl, stark white against her yellowed teeth.

"So I wasn't mistaken." Her voice was raspy and soft, sounding more like a cat's purr.

"About what?" He whispered back. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to keep his voice down, but this seemed serious and he didn't want to break the solemnity with something as basic as sound.

"You two, together." The sly smile she flashed him could have given a coy twelve year old a run for her money. "I had heard from some obscure sources that you were friends, but not _more _then friends."

He stiffened. This was a chapter of his life that he had decided to put behind him when he and Albus had had their clash of wills, and years in prison had almost allowed him to forget it ever happened. He'd fixated on the betrayal even as he let himself forget how badly he had been betrayed in the first place.

"I see I hit a nerve. My apologies."

They sat awkwardly, silent. It was interrupted by Inky, who popped in with a massive tray of tea and sandwiches.

"Inky, I didn't ask for lunch-"

"Because Master Gellert is very absent-minded about the time, and even though it is nearly 2 in the afternoon, he has not requested lunch. And don't you dare say you weren't hungry!"

Gellert blushed and closed his mouth, his stomach growling just to mock him. Inky looked satisfied with himself as he set the tray down between them, the aroma of fresh bread and meat filling his nose.

He waited until Inky had left before taking a sandwich, ripping into it with gusto and ignoring the disgusted look the old woman, whose name he still didn't know. "Can you pass the mustard?"

She delicately handed it over, cringing when he snatched it and slathered some over his sandwich. She nibbled on her half a watercress sandwich, legs still crossed and eyes distantly gazing out the window. The grounds looked lovely covered in snow, and the trees glittered like ice sculptures in the scant sunlight, which occasionally peeked out from the shifting snow-heavy clouds.

"So, who are you?"

She smiled, teeth looking like the canines of a wolf in more ways then one. "My name is Naomi."

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End chapter 17

My god, I actually had time to write this! I have been super busy now that my family is preparing for the holidays and computer time was scarce. Enjoy!


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

The moon shone brightly, the rippled patterns in the clouds relecting its brilliance and from there upon the snow. It was eleven o'clock at night, and he was desperately hoping that no werewolves were wandering around tonight. He was stressed out enough without the added danger of having his flesh torn from his carcass by a vicious, rabid beast. Harry's nerves were tighter then a bowstring, and from the way Luna was trembling, he could tell he wasn't the only one. Their breaths formed white clouds of condensation in the cold night air as they ascended the steps to her house, which was leaning noticeably to one side, belying a cheap foundation.

It was a month since he'd first seen the facial bruise, and he'd endured a lonely Christmas brightened only by Draco's unexpected present of the Wizard equivalent of a 'promise ring'. There'd been a nice love letter with it too, and he was almost glad he was alone so he hadn't had to explain to anyone why he blushed for several days straight. As it was, it was the middle of January, and completely freezing as usual. The United Kingdom wasn't particularly known for its heat, after all.

They were creeping down the hall of her house, after a brief apparatation trip, and he could faintly hear her father snoring in his study, no doubt bent over his desk with ink stains on his hands and face.

Passing the parlor, he saw someone sleeping on the couch, a small pile of empty beer bottles scattered on the floor. The one loosely clutched by the neck in his palm was tilted nearly on its side and slowly trickling yellow liquid onto the floor. He was uncomfortably reminded of urine, and the man's greasy mustache made him strangely revolted, which was not something facial hair had ever done to him that he could remember.

The flight of rickety stairs was beside a cupboard stocked with cabbage and canned kidney beans.

Without looking at him, she whispered, "My dad thinks Dolaphers live in the curved part of the bean. We're trying to build a colony and establish a peaceful government for them."

He refrained from commenting on that, and they reached the top of the stairs where there was a sort of open area with the sloping ceiling looming down on the sides. On the double bed was a emaciated woman with so many jutting bones that Harry nearly threw up. In addition, there were some serious bruises visible on the parts of her that she could see not covered by the sheets.

She moaned, and then rasped, "Uh…Luna? Is that you, honey?"

"Yeah, it's me. I've brought you some potions, and this is my friend Harry."

The ragged woman tilted her head up and made a brave effort to smile. Considering the amount of blood in her teeth, the effect wasn't too pretty. "Thank you. Watch for the creaky board!"

Luna stopped just in time, walking on the fronts of her feet as much as possible. She signaled for Harry to remain where he was, and he reluctantly stood still, watching as she administered the potions and helped the woman who, if the laws of logic are true, would be her aunt Marjorie, drink some water from her thermos.

She then sat beside her on the bed, stroking her hands and hair alternately. At last, maybe half an hour later, Marjorie whispered, "You should go, love. He sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night."

Luna nodded, kissed her on the forehead, and silently made her way back to Harry. They descended the stairs as quietly as possible, but just as they were creeping past the parlor, the man on the sofa twitched once, twice, and then sat straight up.

"Hey, who're you?" He slurred, voice deep and obviously damaged from alcohol.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no…" Luna started repeated, shrinking back away, her back hitting the wall. Harry followed suit, but angled his body to cover her slightly. She gasped and tightly gripped the back of his shirt. He could feel her tremors from the fabric, and wished he knew more about the situation that she had only described at something better seen then spoken of.

"Hey, kid, what are you doing in my house?!" He threw the bottle, and it made a strange noise as it bounced off the wall next to his head, smashing when it hit the floor. Some of the fragments stuck to his pant leg, and the smell of alcohol became increasingly stronger as he staggered nearly, finally bracing his hand on the wall over Harry's head. Harry maintained eye contact stubbornly, refusing to be intimidated despite the man's obviously antagonistic motives.

"I'm a friend of Luna's."

"Haha, oh really? That little weirdo doesn't _have _friends! Who would want to be, anyway?" He laughed again, spittle flying out and landing on Harry's cheeks.

"Then you don't know her very well. Luna is one of the nicest and smartest people I know, and I refuse to let somebody talk about her like that, no matter who you are."

"Are you looking for a fight?"

Harry blinked. "Not really, but I feel like punching you if it would get you out of my face."

"Yeah? You can't hurt me, pipsqueak! Look at your little arms!" He laughed, bending and grinning ear-to-ear at them. Harry tilted his head, analyzing the man's position to make sure he was calculating correctly, and then kicked the side of the thin table next to him, covered only by a small dish meant to hold keys, which Luna rescued.

The table impacted with the coat tree, which then tilted and fell on her uncle, hitting him in the head. However, he wasn't expecting one of the spokes to hit him right in the eye. There was a sickening 'squelch' noise, and Harry covered Luna's eyes. A pool of blood began to form around his head, and he led her towards the doors, still keeping his hand in place. He twitched a few times, gasping air in raggedly, but then the coat rack shifted, and the spoke went in completely. Harry choked and started walking faster, resolutely not looking back even when a sharp scream came out of his throat, dying off so quickly that he knew he wasn't going to surivive.

They exited the house, walked to the apparatation point, and re-appeared in Hogsmeade. She kept her head down, and he didn't know whether she was crying or not.

Neither went back to their dormitories, heading for the Room of Requirement instead.

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End chapter 18


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

"Harry, where were you last night?"

Hermione came out of nowhere, sitting beside him in History of Magic, which he was early for so he could eye-flirt with Draco across the room. His flirting was cut short by her, though.

"I was with Luna. She needed my help for something." He shrugged, faking nonchalance. Hermione lowered her eyebrows.

"Yeah, sure." She crossed her arms under her breasts, giving him a very unimpressed look. "Does this have anything to do with those bruises I've been seeing?"

"Don't say anything to her about this, but yeah. He's, uh, definitely gone and can't lay a finger on her again."

"Who's 'he'?"

_Shit! _"Nobody!"

"Whatever." She opened her books, and Harry turned his head to check his boyfriend out. He was wearing the watch he'd bought him, and he tilted his wrist so a thin beam of light hit Harry's eyes, grinning mischievously.

Harry stuck out his tongue. He was still depressed and quite shaken about actually killing someone, accident or not, last night, but the sight of a faint love mark on his boyfriend's neck was brightening his day. He'd have to check on Luna soon though, to make she hadn't gone into shock or had a fit of some kind.

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"So…are you going to tell me why I had to sleep all cold and alone in my own bed last night?" Draco asked, leaning over Harry's shoulder to close his study book. Harry made an annoyed noise, thanking Merlin that he remembered what page he'd been on.

"Hey, I was reading that! I've got a damned History of Magic test coming up."

"Well too bad. I'm more important anyway." Draco pulled Harry's chair out, and sat on his lap, looking him dead in the eye. "So where were you?"

"I was helping a friend who really needed it. Nothing but an emergency could come between me and your body, you know." He winked, pecking Draco on the cheek.

Draco pretended to be outraged. "My body? Is that all you miss about me when we're apart?"

Harry made as if to think long and hard about it. "Um, yep. That's about it- after all, your body is your only redeeming quality, not to mention my sole reason for dating you." He grinned cheekily, giggling when Draco smacked his nose.

"In that case, you can consider yourself single."

"What? Draco, you knew I was kidding, right?" Draco just looked at him, and Harry squeaked, "Right?"

"You're kind of cute when you're panicking."

"Oh Draco, you bastard!" Harry tried to shove him off his lap, but the blonde simply wrapped his arms around his neck and smiled as sweet as sugar. Poisoned sugar.

"Consider this your punishment for me resorting to wanking for the first time since Christmas. You are now sentenced to having your legs fall asleep and possibly sexual frustration." His grin was no longer sugary, but a little devilish.

Harry was either going to really enjoy this or ask God why on earth he had fallen for someone so inexplicably evil.

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Harry woke up in what felt like his dormitory bed, but…bigger. And unless he'd had a nightmare and Ron had crawled into bed with him, there was a strange person's leg wrapped around his calf.

Opening his eyes cautiously, praying that he hadn't had some kind of drunken accident because if he had Draco would castrate him (without painkillers), he sighed when he saw blonde. It was in his mouth, tickling his nose, and poking his eyes. The owner of the blonde mass was also mumbling something that sounded like 'cheese cupcakes', nuzzling his head into Harry's chest.

"Draco?"

It was very dim in what he concluded must be the Room of Requirement, but you could never trust it to tell you the right time of day-

The light dimmed farther and took on a blueish tint, meaning that it was about 5 or 6 in the morning. He checked his watch just in case, grinning when he saw that it was exactly 5:30 a.m.

"Harry?" Draco stirred, brushing his disorderly hair out of his eyes, and Harry's face as well, looking up at him with bleary eyes. "Do we have to get up now?"

"Its okay, honey, you can sleep a little longer. We've got a few hours yet."

They settled down to sleep, neither aware that a very old woman was watching them, smiling and plotting manipulations of their weak points.

Naomi smirked and called Inky to her side, requesting some tea. "And don't forget the sugar!"

"Yes ma'am!" Inky saluted and popped out of the room.

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End chapter 19

So…what's the reader verdict on Naomi? And yes, she is bad.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Ascending the steps to the Divination Tower, Harry checked through his bag to make sure he had everything, gesturing for Ron to go on ahead of him with Dean and Seamus instead of waiting for him.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, yeah- I'm fine. I don't want you to be late too."

Ron nodded and disappeared around a corner of the twirled staircase, shoulders still drooped. He and Hannah Abbott had decided to break off their relationship yesterday, and even though the Hufflepuff said she still wanted to be friends, Ron wasn't taking it very well. Harry wasn't sure if he had been dreaming or not, but he was pretty sure he heard him sniffling in his bed last night.

A shadow fell over his shoulder, shaped like a large man holding an axe-

He ducked just in time, screeching when he saw Walden, the same guy who nearly executed Buckbeak in third year, raising his massive axe and lowering it at a rapid pace in his direction.

"Hey!" He ducked another swing, sprinting down the stairs and away from the classroom so the madman couldn't attack any of his classmates. "How did you get in here?"

Now that he looked, safely in an alcove too small for the Death Eater (or so he concluded from his tattoo) to get at him with his weapon, there was a hollow look in the man's eyes that belied some kind of mind-control spell. Maybe the Imperius, maybe something else. He couldn't be sure of anything but that the man wasn't in his best mind, and obviously of a mind to kill him via decapitation of serious limb removal. It wasn't something he wanted to experience, no matter the circumstances.

"Um, hello?"

Walden McNair made a strange groaning noise and sagged pathetically to one side, barely holding himself upright.

"Hello?" He repeated, squeaking when a large hand suddenly snapped out and grabbed him by his shirt-front from his hidey-hole.

"Your death will-"

"Will do nothing, 'cause I'm not dying today!" Harry managed to wriggle out of his grip and kicked him in the small of his back, watching grimly as he tumbled down the stairs, the dull thuds of his body crashing into the stone steps on the way down stirring nausea in his stomach. He followed slowly, wand out and shaking slightly in his grip. Thick neck or not, a fall like that could easily snap it and he just wanted to make sure that he wouldn't be coming after him again. Thank god Death Eaters unpardoned or undiscovered by the Ministry could be legally killed on sight, or else he'd be facing an impressive lawsuit for this.

Sure enough, a few feet from the bottom, McNair was twisted into a pretzel and twitching slightly. A pool of drool mixed with blood was forming by his mouth, and Harry tried to hold back but vomited anyway. So much for trying to gain some weight so his shoulders wouldn't be so 'bony' when Draco wanted to sleep on them.

"Potter!" Snape shouted, appearing in the doorway beside the Headmaster and…Mad-Eye Moody? What was the ex-Auror doing here?

Harry tried to look innocent, very glad he'd put his wand away. "Yes, Professor?"

"Mr. Potter, what is the meaning of this? Who is that?!" Dumbledore demanded, blue eyes flashing with more youthful vigor than Harry thought possible of the old man.

"A Death Eater, sir. He'd dead, though." He placated when he saw Moody whip out his wand.

"What is he doing in the castle?"

Harry shrugged. Why was Dumbledore asking him? He wasn't the Headmaster!

"Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head, ignoring the throbbing in his arm where he'd crashed into the wall earlier.

Albus sighed and did his best to fend off the encroaching headache. First Lestrange, then Gellert, and now this; Hogwarts' wards were supposed to be impregnable and incapable of destruction via some kind of ancient technique lost to history, but just this morning he had been alerted that three had dissolved without a trace. He had contacted some of his followers in the Unspeakables Department, and they were doing their best to see what had caused it as he stood here seeing with his own eyes the danger weaknesses of this kind could have. The school housed thousands of innocent (or not so innocent) children who relied on him to protect them, and no matter how troublesome he found it, the duties he performed for their sakes kept him fed and provided for.

"Moody, if you would alert the Minister, I would appreciate it. The body will be in my office waiting for him. Mr. Potter, please go to your class. Severus will fill out a late slip for you so you are not punished for your tardiness."

Snape scowled but did as he was told, removing a piece of yellow paper seemingly from nowhere and scribbling something on it with a conjured quill. It ran out of ink half-way through the job, and Harry saw that the Headmaster had walked away, presumably to his office. Snape's glare intensified, and he practically threw the paper at him before stalking off, robes billowing like the wings of a bat.

Harry sighed and wearily ascended the steps, shaken but determined to put a brave face on for his boyfriend, who might panic if he was him upset.

Whoever was sending this people to attack him certainly was very mean…and had wonderful timing. If he had noticed the shadow a second later then he had, he would be dead right now.

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End chapter 20

No one is safe from Naomi…or at least nobody named Harry Potter.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

"Why?"

Naomi looked up from her crystal ball quickly, glaring at Gellert for breaking her concentration.

"Why what, you boar?" She snapped, making it clear that she was not in the mood for silly questions. She had a planet's hopes to destroy, and it wasn't an easy job even if she didn't have ex-Dark Lords distracting her.

"Why are you doing this, trying to kill that kid, Potter or whatever?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Gellert blinked, moving to sit next to her.

"Alright, who do you think of when you think of light magic and hope?" She fiddled with her bangles, rearranging the crystals to adjust her magical signature. Should someone try to track the magical signature she was wearing a moment earlier, they wouldn't find a wink or whistle of it ever existing.

"Um, him?"

"Exactly. I don't _want _the Wizarding people feeling hope or even fanaticism towards this child who supposedly defeated Voldemort as a bloody infant, since it places them in high spirits and therefore they'll fight longer when I make my attacks. To weaken their morale, I intend to systematically destroy their beacons of good feeling. And then the Dementors will die from starvation, which is exactly what they deserve for turning my darling husband into a goddamned zombie!"

"Uh…"

"What?" She snapped, crossing her arms.

"Your motive for killing half the public figures on the face of the planet is to kill Dementors…because they killed your husband?"

"Yes."

"And this doesn't seem the least bit like overkill to you?"

"I fail to understand your question, but I don't care enough to listen to you explain yourself. Kindly get out of my sight before I do something drastic." She took a sip of her tea, burning her tongue but hiding it admirably.

"This is my house, and coincidentally my bedroom as well. I can be in here if I damn well please."

"Not anymore you can't."

"Just watch me." He made himself comfortable on his bed, grabbing a book from the nightstand, her glare making his skin prickle but not enough for him to consider giving up proving his point.

Naomi sighed and went back to watching Harry, observing him cuddling on a couch with his boyfriend, apparently reassuring him that he was fine. She looked forward to ripping them apart. Happy people had begun to first rub her wrong at her husband's burial, when a group of giggly teenaged girls had taken a walk through the graveyard just as his casket was being lowered into the ground, talking about senseless things like boys and parties. Their smiles and irritating giggles had infuriated her so much that she'd broken her favorite walking stick, which she didn't actually need, into several pieces.

She'd hated children and anyone who dared to smile in this bleak world ever since. Soon they would all die, and then so would she, and spend eternity with her beloved Frank.

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Albus was pacing his office quietly, stroking his beard and humming quietly under his breath. He'd read somewhere that it was supposed to help stimulate thought and was trying it out. So far he hadn't noticed anything different, so he stopped and popped a lemon drop into his mouth, the hard lozenge settling comfortably on his tongue and making it tingle with its flavor. Half the fun of lemon-flavored candy was the pinched feeling you got in your cheeks when it hit you how sour it was.

Something twitched out of the corner of his eye, and he saw a shriveled old woman standing on his desk. She looked damned familiar, and when he sharpened his eyesight to see her aura, he nearly threw up. Where the heart center was supposed to be was nothing but a smoking hole, and it was infecting the rest of her magical orbs. It was very disturbing, and the shredded and deformed _thing _lurking inside her eyes made him want to run away and never come anywhere near her ever again.

He dimmed his sight, and saw what a strange old lady was, for the ignorant and unenlightened that had been spared the creature beneath her flesh and bones, sitting happily in her insides and eating the hole replacing her heart.

"Can I help you?" He wasn't even going to bother asking how she had gotten in here. With an aura like that, he wouldn't be surprised if she was Satan reincarnated, if Demons did indeed exist.

"Yes. You can die, and since I don't trust some poor fool to do it, I'm disposing of you myself. I hope you understand that this is _very _personal." She twitched her neck and a knife appeared in her left hand, rusted and very obviously the kind of ancient ritual blade used by the sorceresses and seers long ago when magic was wild and so much stronger then it was today now that it had been pulled this way and that, tied into the manmade homes of humans and their toy artifacts. After all this time, though, they still understood little more then blinks of what it was they had called magic.

"Now hold still, and this will only take a minute. It won't hurt very much if you behave yourself."

She hopped off his desk nimbly, advancing slowly towards him, knife raised high behind her in the traditional position.

Albus suddenly wished he had made a run for it while he still could.

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End chapter 21

Damn, I have 21 chapters already?!


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Surely we can talk about this reasonably?" He raised his hands in front of himself, carefully whispering a shielding spell out of the corner of his mouth. She walked straight through it just as his back hit the wall just by the window. The sunshine hitting her face, creating shadows and white patches, struck him as ironic. He closed his eyes, and yelled when a sharp pain came from his stomach, where she had punctured his skin. Thrashing, all thoughts of taking this like a man fleeing, he tried to get away from her but found himself unable to. Stabbing waves of agony came from his organ, and then there was a squelching noise as she rotated it and drew it out, aiming for his heart a mere half-second later. She hit her target, and his vision began blurring and flashing black off and on.

"Goodbye, Albus."

His body began to crumple, and she opened the window casually, levitating his body up and over the sill so he fell towards the grounds far below. She wanted to smile, but couldn't bring herself to.

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Harry glanced at the carpet of the library floor in this secluded section, and then decided to act on his whim. Marking his spot in the Potions Manual, he laid down on the floor, flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

He nibbled idly on his fingernails, enjoying the peacefulness of the practically empty library. For some reason, he felt as though a large and rather oppressive cloud on his horizon had evaporated from bright sunlight. He smiled wide. The only way he could possibly feel better right now would be if Draco had the same free period he did and was able to lean on his shoulder.

Someone was coming closer, and he turned his head towards the sound. What if lying on the library floor for no particular reason wasn't allowed? He wouldn't be surprised if it was forbidden. Hogwarts had some very odd rules.

"Mr. Potter?" It was McGonagall, and she looked a little miffed to find him on the floor. "Mr. Potter, get off that floor this instant! There has been an emergency and the Minister requests your presence."

"Now?" Harry asked stupidly, reluctant to leave his haven even as he stood and stretched the kinks from his back.

"Of course he wants you now! Now come quickly!" She took his arm and practically dragged him from the office, glaring Madam Pince into silence before the crotchety old lady could even open her mouth.

"So, er, what happened, exactly?" harry panted, trying to keep up with his Head of House, who was moving at about the same pace as a steam engine.

"You will know soon enough, Potter." Her voice was snappier then usual, and she smiled faintly in apology. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, I'm just a bit shocked and upset."

"It's alright."

They were heading up a few flights of stairs now, and Harry felt ashamed of panting at the pace they were moving when this Professor McGonagall didn't look the least bit ruffled, merely impatient.

A few minutes later (it didn't take long at their speed), they were ascending the swirling staircase to the Headmaster's office, and Harry noticed the excess Aurors on the landing above their heads smoking and having a chat. What on earth was going on?

"Excuse us."

"Of course, ma'am." They moved aside, giving Harry once-overs or nudging their friends so they too could see the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry ducked his head and blushed, slipping past them and doing his best to ignore the hand that snaked out and ran down his back.

"Whoa, you touched him!" One of them whispered to the culprit, but Harry didn't hear the rest because they closed the door to the office.

The headmaster was nowhere in sight.

"Where's-"

"He's dead." Minister Fudge snapped, standing close to one of the windows.

"I'm sorry?" He couldn't have heard right.

"He's gone. He jumped, and there's nothing left of him but a pile of broken bones and skin. If I had known he was upset-"

"Are you sure nobody pushed him?" Harry asked innocently, his question a cover so he could possibly get the Minister to shut up for a few minutes.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Minerva broke in. "We both know that this office is very secure, and I know he had no visitors at this time because we have a book that keeps record of these things for our reference."

"Oh."

He wondered why he wasn't very upset about this.

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End chapter 22


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

It had been three lonesome days and three nightmare-filled nights since the Headmaster of Hogwarts was declared dead.

Gellert bit back his rising emotions, snarling at them that they were a lie. Albus had always spoken pretty words to him, and even professed to love him, but he had known deep down that he couldn't have meant them. People in love do not lock their loved ones in filthy prisons and throw away the key. People in love _do _commit suicide by jumping out of windows, though.

The Daily Prophet's dramatic article, written by some bint named Skeeter, about the Supreme Mugwump's apparent suicide was filled with disgusting quotes from so-called friends and associates of his, all of whom said that they had never seen it coming. He wanted to write the paper and tell them that of course they couldn't have seen it coming because there was no way Albus would kill himself.

And wasn't it interesting that no family members had contacted the paper? He snorted. He could not and did not blame Aberforth for keeping his head down. Even in death his older brother had made a sensational wave, and it didn't show any signs of calming down.

The door cracked open, and he could see one of Inky's ears before the rest of the Elf came into sight.

"Master?"

"Yes, Inky?" He murmured. His throat was dry since he hadn't thought to eat or drink.

"Does Master perhaps want some food now? Or just a little tea?"

He hesitated. It wasn't like he was holding a wake or, god forbid, mourning, so he supposed it would be alright. "I'll have some bitter tea, no cream or sugar. Use those herbs we got in Haiti."

"Yes Master. Inky will be back soon." Inky seemed reluctant to leave, but the door _snicked _closed a tense moment later. Gellert groped blindly on his nightstand for the article, staring at the picture of Albus when he had it in his hands. The eyes were twinkling, and he winked.

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Naomi sauntered as well as an old lady with arthritis can into the kitchen where she was storing Tom, the evil spirits who served her in exchange for worship and bites of the hatred inside of her following on her heels. They were like children, she thought to herself. Like shy young children holding onto their mother's apron strings.

And she let herself smile at the thought. These were the kind of children she had always wanted. They never asked her irritating questions or tried to 'be their own people'. They were what they were, and when they wanted a bite of her 'energy', they took it with a smile. It helped that they were beautiful as well.

"Hello, Tom. How are you?"

"I'm fine." Now that the Dark Lord had given up on escape or intimidation, he was very civil to her. They got on fine, and she had decided to start bringing him his food personally instead of having his former Death Eaters do it. This had the added bonus of ensuring that their delicate mental balance was not upset. She had them under a more complicated version of the _Imperius _but its weak point was that seeing things with which they attached strong emotion could shatter it.

"Here, I've brought you some soup."

"Thank you." He accepted it, setting the bowl in his lap and eating it slowly, blowing on the spoonful before setting it in his mouth. The last irritant he needed now was a burnt tongue.

"So…how goes the war?" He asked, finishing off his soup, "I mean, how is whatever you're doing?"

"It's moving right along, thank you. I just killed Dumbledore, and after him I have Harry Potter, the Minister of Magic, and one other man in Indonesia before I'm done. No new leaders have risen up since I started campaigning, so I'm pleased about that as well."

Tom sputtered. "You killed Dumbledore? How?! I have been trying to off him for decades after what he did to me!"

"I stabbed him and then pushed him out the window. The idiotic Minister declared it suicide and so their petty newspaper is still in mourning." She took a pipe out of her pocket, stuffing some tobacco into it and lighting it carefully, puffing until it flared. "If you don't mind me asking, what did he do?"

"Only ensured that my childhood was miserable and antagonized me into attacking him. He then whined like a woman and declared me a threat to the country, among other things. I had no choice but to recruit Death Eaters to counter the Aurors after his little hate speech."

"I see." She puffed away.

A cockroach skittered across the floor, disappearing under the cabinet closest to Tom. He shuddered.

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End chapter 23


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

"I think I've become one of those Paranoid Schizophrenics." Harry confided, reaching over their corner table in the Hog's Head to brush some of the blonde's hair out of his face. He was about to chew on it by accident, and flashed Harry a smile.

"Thanks. My hair is always getting everywhere these days."

"Yeah, the wind is pretty strong."

"So what were you saying before?" Draco leaned back in his seat, cradling his tea in his hands without seeming to be burned by the hot crockery.

"Oh, just that I think I've become a Paranoid Schizophrenic."

Draco blinked. "Um, what's that? I've never heard of it."

"It's a Muggle thing, called a mental disorder, and I think I might have it because I have this…this _feeling _that someone is watching me…and that they want to kill me."

Draco spat out the tentative mouthful of tea he'd taken. Harry shot him a mock-irritated look as he dabbed the liquid off his face. Draco leaned over their cramped table to help him, mumbling apologies.

"Okay, what was this about being watched?"

"I don't have any proof, but I just feel like somebody is watching me and that they want to hurt me or us."

Draco took another sip of his tea, forehead wrinkling in thought. "How long have you felt like this?"

"The past six months and it was more of a prickle up my spine then anything else. I don't know what happened, but the day Dumbledore died, it crystallized into this thought that someone wanted to hurt me."

They were quiet, and Harry jumped when Draco's foot bumped his under the table. When it happened again a moment later, he grinned and bumped him back.

"Do you know who it could be? I didn't know you had enemies at Hogwarts."

"I don't…that I know of. I mean, before we got together, I considered _you _to be my rival, and nobody has taken your place now that we, you know, aren't trying to kill each other anymore." He laughed, stealing a sip of Draco's tea.

"Then who…?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll just have to watch my back."

"Yeah." Draco still hadn't recovered from knowing that Harry had been attacked twice by Death Eaters on Hogwarts grounds, and barely made it out alive. He decided not to bring it up again while they were out. They hadn't really had much of a chance to spend time together doing normal 'couple' things like going on dates and the like. He decided drinking tea in the Hog's Head with Draco was infinitely more fun then cringing in Madam Puttifoot's with some nameless girl.

"Have you ever wanted something that you've never experienced?" Draco asked randomly, looking away from their table and out the window at the rain. It was April, and most of the ice was gone, replaced with rain that should have been ice considering its temperature.

Harry hoped to god that Draco wasn't getting tired of him, that he was misinterpreting his question. "Well, sometimes. Like, when I was little, I used to want things like ice cream and sweets because they looked good, but I'd never had them. Now, though, I sometimes want a cigarette because they are supposed to be calming…"

He trailed off, finding himself looking out at the rain.

"I think I want to experience being in a completely unfamiliar place and like it." Draco's voice was kind of misty, and Harry glanced at him. He often wondered about his boyfriend's childhood, but hadn't asked. Draco didn't pry into his childhood with the Dursleys, even though Harry could tell he was more then curious about the nasty Muggles he lived with.

"What kind of place?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't really care, as long as we're not sick, dying, uncomfortable, or separated. I don't want to go alone."

Harry got an idea. "Hey, what about this summer?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my birthday is in July, and I'll be turning seventeen, so maybe we can go to this 'unfamiliar' place of yours?"

Draco slowly smiled. "That sounds lovely."

"Good, because we're going whether you want to or not."

Draco looked upwards and then punched his shoulder across the table. "No need to drag me. If you're gonna be there, so will I."

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End chapter 24

Yay for Draco/Harry-centric chapter!


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Let me get this straight." If his hands hadn't been tied behind his back, long ago gone dead from blood loss, he would have punched Naomi, "You killed all but five of my Death Eaters, and three of the remaining are in serious medical states?"

"Four, actually; I just thought you should know." Naomi smiled, shutting the kitchen door behind her and crossing the floor to take her usual seat across from him, crossing her short legs.

"And you did that because you were, I quote, 'bored'?"

"Yes. There isn't much to amuse me while I wait in this hotel or in Gellert's home other then his book collection, which he has been guarding from me lately ever since I burned his hard-cover copy of the Necronomicon." She buffed her nails, scrutinizing them critically afterwards and sneering at a stubborn bit of dirt underneath her right thumb. Scratching at it proved that it wasn't actually dirt, but dried blood that had gathered there when she'd scratched Lucius Malfoy's eyes out of his pretty head. That had been fun.

"Well, you're boring, Tom. I'm leaving. Ta!"

He just groaned, not bothering to reply to her. The only reason he could think of regarding her decision to keep him alive was that Voldemort's death might make the people a little happier.

On the bright side of his imprisonment, he had gotten over his fear of cockroaches and developed a careful friendship with a very large cockroach he'd dubbed Smith. He didn't know why he'd chosen such a generic name, but the name seemed to fit and Smith responded to it.

"Smith? Smith?"

Something scratched, and then Smith scuttled out with his buddy Jones. While Smith was almost twice the size of a normal cockroach, Jones was half the size. He wasn't sure if they were related, but he thought of them as brothers.

He was also strongly ignoring the insignificant detail that making friends with insects and naming them after good English stock might be a sign of his fading sanity. Sitting in the moldy kitchen of an abandoned hotel for nearly a year would drive anyone to such things as consorting with cockroaches.

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Harry bit the inside of his cheek, flipping to a different page of his test, scanning the questions and scribbling down answers when he saw one he didn't have to think about too deeply.

Beside him, Hermione was already finished, working on some Astronomy homework as she waited for the hour left in testing time to end. Her parent's divorce had gone through, and she was now living with her father, or would have been if she wasn't seventeen and therefore legally an adult in the Wizarding world. Yesterday she had nearly made him faint when she started casually talking about getting a flat of her own and taking up the job offer she'd been given by the Ministry after the OWLS test results were eventually reviewed. She was going to be some kind of book editor, from what she understood. Since it would basically involve getting paid to read books and make factual and grammatical corrections, he had urged her to accept it. She was still thinking about it, reviewing her other options first, but it was her most prominent option.

He finished the test, signing his name at the bottom with a sense of satisfaction. He hadn't had much faith in his mathematical skills before Draco had offered to help him, but now he knew without a doubt that he had done very well on the test, most of the questions seeming simpler then he ever could of imagined.

Hermione looked over at him approvingly when he pulled out an essay for Charms, idly listing on the edge of his notebook the charms he was supposed to be explaining the history of.

The non-aquatic fire-quenching charm, commonly known as the Hibiscus Miracle, for reasons unknown to him, was giving him more trouble then he was expecting, so he moved on to the next one, taking a second to write a quick note on his wrist to visit the library and research it after dinner.

Once he'd written everything but the paragraph on the Hibiscus Miracle, he stared around at his classmates and tried to figure out what they were thinking or what kind of people they were if he didn't know them at all. Somehow he ended up doodling multiple sketches of a lizard chasing butterflies on a spare sheet of parchment, getting kicked by Hermione under the table when their professor came too close.

Once the test was over and the students were dismissed, Hermione asked, "So what was up with the lizard?"

"What lizard?"

She giggled, "The one you were drawing. It looked really good, by the way. Have you been taking art classes?"

"Not that I know of, and I've always liked geckos and iguanas and stuff like that."

"What about eels?"

He made a face. "Ew, no. they are too slimy to be cute like lizards. I like lizards because they always look, I don't know, happy?"

"Oh, yeah. It's the way their jaws are shaped, though, they aren't actually happy-"

Harry cut in before she could shatter his imaginative world of cheerful reptiles. "Well, I like to think that they are actually very happy with their lives, thank you very much."

She just laughed at him, helping him untangle the strap of his bag before they walked out of the classroom. She had noticed how jumpy he'd been recently, but he was looking much calmer then usual today. She offered him a piece of chocolate anyway, sparing a minute to miss Professor Lupin, their one competent instructor in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a subject basically left for dead now that no one would apply for the job. Not even Snape had applied for it.

Suddenly a shiver went through her, and she felt inexplicably as though someone was looking straight at her with murderous intent. She looked around, seeing no one and flinching when Harry called her name.

"Are you alright?"

"I…yeah. I just had a weird feeling."

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End chapter 25

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	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Harry ducked a paper bird Draco threw at him, hiding his smile by bending his head farther down over his book. The Hibiscus Miracle was very confusing when you went beyond the most basic aspects of it, but he had gathered a sufficient amount to write his paragraph on. Unfortunately, Draco had shown up half-way through and decided that he wasn't getting enough attention.

Just as he relaxed and began writing again, thinking that his boyfriend had left, someone kissed his ear.

"Hey!"

Draco pulled away from his ear, sticking out his lower lip slightly and doing his best to look innocent. "What? I'm not obstructing your hands or asking for your participation, so technically you can still do your homework."

"Hypothetically, yes. However, I happen to be very attracted to you and my ability to think straight flies out the window when you fiddle with my ears." He looked reproachful. "You _know _how sensitive my earlobes are."

"Yes, and I also know how tasty they are!" he dipped his head again, biting playfully this time. Harry started writing faster, clinging to his last bits of intellect in order to finish his homework. He just barely managed, and his signature became more of a wobbly line when Draco decided that sitting on him would be more comfortable than looming over his shoulder and trying to inhale his entire pale neck at the same time.

"Am I still being a bother?" He asked quietly, pulling back from kissing him when he didn't feel Harry responding. But Harry wasn't looking at him, he was looking over his shoulder and as tense as a bowstring. Not seeing what else to do, he also looked and nearly had a heart attack.

Just on the other side of their table, wand raised and eye sockets merely torn empty holes in his aristocratic face, Lucius Malfoy stood.

"F-father?" Draco choked out, eyes taking in the slightly gray tinge to his father's skin and the smell of something rotting coming from him, layered with the smell of excrement and human juices. He was dead, but moving like a puppet on strings, jerky and abrupt in his movements.

"Dad?" He whispered again, even more hesitantly. Lucius gave no sign of hearing him, shifting the aim of his wand to directly between harry's eyes. His mouth opened wide, and he hissed in a voice that wasn't his-

"_Aveda Kedav-"_

Harry had his own wand in his hand now and yelled, "Expelliarmus! Stupefy!" and caught Mr. Malfoy's wand as it sprung into his hand. "Quick, Draco, let's get him while he's down!"

He shoved his stunned boyfriend off his lap, rushing to the fallen man's side and conjuring some thick ropes to tie his limbs together. He needn't have bothered, though, since whoever had been controlling his _Inferi _had released their power and left nothing but a battered corpse. Harry gagged when he unwillingly caught sight of his empty eye sockets, taking out his handkerchief and tying it around his eyes to hide them.

"Draco? Draco, can you help me?" He looked over at the blonde, finding him standing where he'd left him, a blank look on his face. "Babe?"

"Huh?" Draco mumbled, obviously still out of it.

"Never mind, honey. You stay right there and I'll come get you in a minute." He made sure to speak slowly, hoping that his boyfriend was going to be alright. He had lived almost all of his life without his parents and therefore couldn't relate nearly as well as he wished he could, but at least he could a little.

When he was finished completely trussing Mr. Malfoy's corpse, he levitated him and guided him carefully up onto the table. Gently touching Draco's shoulder, he kissed his cheek and whispered, "I'm going to take him to McGonagall. Do you want to come or stay here for a minute?"

"I wanna go with you."

"Okay. Do you want to hold hands?"

Draco nodded, a faint smile touching his lips when Harry closed his much warmer hand around the blonde's chilled fingers. "Let's go, then!"

The journey through the halls of Hogwarts to the Headmaster's office, currently occupied by their ex-Transfiguration professor was a long one and filled with staring and whispering students fresh out of dinner, which Harry had finished early.

"Oh my god, are they together?"

"Slytherins and Gryffindors _never _date each other!"

"Merlin, I didn't know there were wizard fags…"

Harry took the time to glare at the Muggleborn Ravenclaw who'd said that, satisfied by his flinch. As far as he was concerned, saying inflammatory things like that and not expecting him to, at the very least, give him a dirty look, was plain stupid. He wondered how the brat had gotten Sorted into Ravenclaw.

More comments followed their progress, but Harry blocked them out, very happy that he had thought to place a Disillusionment charm on the corpse floating innocently behind them.

They finally reached the gargoyle guarding the office, and Harry stared blankly at it when he realized that he didn't remember the password.

"Um…"

"Sorry, that isn't it." The gargoyle had been much nicer to him lately, which was rather mysterious, but Harry didn't think he could talk it into letting him in without the password.

Thankfully, Professor Snape just rounded the corner and came floating over to them, robes as batlike as ever and the fire of hell gleaming in his eyes.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, I demand an explanation for this extraordinary display!"

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End chapter 26


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

He looked around, sneaking a glance at the hidden body. There was nothing out of the ordinary. "What display, sir?"

"Let go of my godson's hand this instant and stop asking insipid questions!"

Harry felt Draco flinch through their joined hands, and squeezed tight so the blonde couldn't pull away. "There is no rule that says that two students cannot hold hands, sir." He wanted to sneer but resisted the urge when he did something that he'd been practicing lately- he looked beyond his personal opinion of his Professor and did his best to read his body language. Beneath the man's normal commanding stance was some hesitance he'd never noticed before, and he was looking closely at the spot where Lucius was concealed.

"Nevertheless, I still find your display inappropriate."

"Not that this discussion is unimportant, Professor, but could you let us into the Headmistress's office? It's kind of important."

Draco nodded empathically, apparently not trusting himself to speak.

Snape looked between their solemn faces, sighed, and spat, "Goldilocks!" the gargoyle nodded and moved aside smoothly, revealing the staircase.

"Thanks!" Harry chirped, hoping to get away while he still could, and take Draco someplace warm and peaceful to get him out of his head and back into the real world. Snape followed them onto the steps, though, and an awkward silence descended as the stairs rose slowly upwards, Harry conscious of a pair of beetle-black eyes glaring holes into his bony spine.

He stretched his shoulder subtly, smiling gently at Draco and wilting inside when the blonde gave no sign of seeing it. He knocked twice, waiting until McGonagall's voice called, "Come in!"

The door opened easily when he turned the handle with his free hand, and he ushered their group in. His ex-Head of House was looking a little gray around the edges, and older then he had ever thought possible for someone as iron-willed as she was (he imagined her wagging her finger in the face of death and old age rather than submitting), but she was predominantly surprised to see them.

"Professor Snape? Have the boys done something…" She trailed off when she saw their clasped hands. "What is going on?"

"Another Death Eater, in the form of an _Inferi _attacked Draco and I in the library. I managed to truss the body after stupefying and disarming it in case it should begin moving around again, and I've brought him with me for your perusal before you contact the Ministry." With a flick of his wrist, he disengaged the illusion, revealing Mr. Malfoy's battered and decidedly dead body.

The two professors stared, and then looked at Draco, the Slytherin's combination of vacancy and sorrow making sense at last. Not caring about his audience, now that the two adults were quietly discussing what they were going to do about this, Harry pulled his boyfriend as close as was decent around other people and kissed both his cheeks.

"Ma'am, can we be excused until they need to question us later?" He'd gotten used to the procedure of the Ministry's investigations and anticipated a good 3 hours of free time between their arrival and when they started questioning.

She waved him away. "Yes, yes. But don't leave the Castle or tell anyone else what has happened, alright?"

"Yes ma'Am." he respectfully bowed his head, and then guided Draco by the elbow out of the office, down the stairs, through the halls, and to the Room of Requirement, in front of which he paced three times wishing for a place to reorient his boyfriend that would soothe him when he came to his senses.

The door materialized and he took a deep breath before opening it. Inside was a personal library, disorganized and cozy, tall windows with ledges crammed with plants filling the air with the smell of earth and sap and flowers.

Draco inhaled, eyes watering.

Mindful of his gradual 'awakening' of sorts, Harry led him to the sofa and curled his body as best as he could around him. "Let me know if you want to talk." He whispered, cupping Draco's head and kissing him like he would a child.

They lay there for an indeterminate amount of time, Harry slowly stroking the blonde hair tickling his nose and praying to various deities he hadn't bothered to believe in before today. He had never held anything other than disgust in his heart for Mr. Malfoy, but now he tried to reconcile the vile Death Eater with the parental figure he had represented to Draco.

Around eleven at night, Draco drifted off into sleep and Harry followed, dreaming of riding a Muggle train in the middle of the night, the only other person sharing the car with him a shriveled old woman. When he tried to acknowledge her, she started to giggle, then to laugh, and finally to scream obscenities. The dream ended abruptly when the train they were riding impacted violently with an unmoving obstacle.

He jerked awake in a cold sweat, the ghostly laughter and harsh words still echoing in his disoriented mind even though the Room of Requirement was silent other then the sound of…soft crying? He looked down, noticing the damp feeling that his shirt had assumed as his boyfriend's shoulders shook in with his muffled sobs.

"Draco? Baby, are you okay?" He felt like hitting himself after asking that. Of course he wasn't okay!

Draco shook his head, using a shaking hand to swipe some of the tears away. "I'm sorry I'm being such a girl but-"

"Don't say that!" Harry hissed, wrapping an arm tightly around his shoulders and guiding his head back down onto his shoulder. "I'd be very worried if you didn't cry. Just let me know if you want a hanky, okay?" He kissed his ear, resting his face against him and rubbing his back like he did when Hermione had one of her emotional crying fits.

"Thank you." Draco whispered, sniffling.

"I love you too."

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End chapter 27




	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Draco was reading a letter from his mother, two weeks later, and sighing every few minutes. Harry was sorely tempted to ask what was wrong, but the now-familiar pensive look was on his boyfriend's face and he didn't want to bother him. From what he had covertly gathered, Draco was being saddled with a lot of responsibilities in regards to the running of his family's affairs since his family was very traditional and he was the sanest male available who wasn't three times removed.

So far the Ministry had seized two-thirds of the Malfoy's various collective property in the name of 'justice', despite its clear illegality, and Draco had whispered to him last night after their customary goodnight kiss that he might not be able to attend school anymore, very soon, because the tuition was expensive.

Harry didn't even want to think about living without seeing Draco in class, grabbing him in hallways, sleeping together, and, when they could, eating together.

"Harry?"

"Yes?" He looked over, trying to smile. Thought of Life Without Draco had depressed him into a horrible blue funk.

"Nothing, just wanted to say I love you." Draco kissed his jaw, and Harry let himself forget the strangely ominous feel that statement had had.

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"This all very inconvenient, you know." Gellert grumbled, unsteadily climbing the steps to his attic, a box of his beloved books in his arms. Naomi had shown up without prior announcement, used the last bit of his favorite jasmine tea, and then nicely informed him that she had invited some people over and that they'd be there in a few hours. Since he didn't fancy the thought of strangers rifling through his priceless book collection, he'd managed to transport most of them into the attic except for the box of finicky books that behaved badly when not manually transported.

"You've said that already." Naomi droned, following him for lack of anything else to do and smoking her pipe leisurely.

"I wish you wouldn't smoke up here, Naomi. It gets very stuffy."

She lowered her eyebrows, expressing utter boredom. "Do I look like I give a damn?"

"no, but I do and I just might snitch that pipe of yours and throw it out the window if you don't behave like a proper, sane woman of your age."

"Go to hell."

"First you've damned me, and now you're talking about hell. Have you been fiddling with my Demonology books? I'm still missing 'The Four Princes of Hell and Their Various Jurisdictions and Summoning Methods', you know. I am very attached to that book and I would very much like it back." He glared at her, eyes smoldering. "And I have no memory of giving you permission to touch it."

"Oh Gellert, how could you possibly expect me to keep my hands off of something that rare?"

"I trusted you to not rob me for once. I will never trust you like that ever again."

She pretended to sigh. "My deepest apologies. But anyway, in regards to that book of yours, I was wondering if you knew anything about the author- there was no name given."

"I wish I could say I did know something, because I've been curious myself, especially about his sources, but I haven't been able to find anything other then that he was supposedly a hermit in Sima, Egypt."

She blinked. "But there aren't any hermits in Sima. It's a very isolated community, last I checked, and doesn't it get submerged with floods regularly?"

"Yes, but the book was written when it used to be an ocean. He was on some kind of island in the middle of it, supposedly, and it was originally transcribed on a total of 4301 tablets of dry clay, since then copied by a bored teenager who discovered them while playing in the sand in the 1600s. Several other people have written notes and anthologies on it since, but nobody knows anything about how the original author discovered the demonic realms."

"I…see."

"No you don't." He began organizing his books in what was apparently his new library, casting an enlargement spell in the north garret absent-mindedly.

"Where did you find out he was a hermit, anyway?"

He shrugged. "Don't remember. Some book somewhere, I think in the library at Alexandria."

"Hm." She blew smoke rings at the ceiling, smiling when she made a big one then a little one to fit inside it before they dissipated.

"Honestly, Naomi, your tobacco smoke is going to turn my books yellow!"

"Quit your whining." She found the crumbling sofa beneath a skylight and made herself comfortable. "Do you mind staying up here while I conduct my meeting?"

"This is my house, and I will go wherever I damn well please!"

"But I'm meeting with Vampires and they get hungry."

He gaped for a second before nodding curtly. "I'll stay up here, thanks."

A minute later he asked, "Won't they try to take a bite out of you, though?"

"No, they don't like sick people or those rotting inside from…other causes."

"Ah."

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End chapter 28


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"It's happening tonight." Naomi purred, obviously pleased with herself.

"What's happening tonight?" Gellert asked cautiously, not liking the crazed gleam in her eyes. Lately his long-dead conscience had been pricking him pointedly about his toleration of her diabolical power, which had been working with frightening speed to accomplish her goals one by one. It wouldn't be long now until she could unleash the Vampires, with whom she had made a pact. In exchange for a steady supply of bloodied corpses upon which to feed, they would kill off the Dementors, who were sorely weakened by now. She had discovered in some ancient text, borrowed without permission from his private collection, that Vampires and even first-generation Dhampires were capable of killing a Dementor by sucking their collection of souls out of them, although their bodies were unable to contain the souls and would eventually vomit them into the afterlife.

Gellert had wondered for awhile how the author had discovered that tidbit and lived long enough to record it.

"Tonight, my dear, I am going to line Mr. Potter's little bed with fire and soak his pillow in arsenic." She giggled then, like a demented child, her small, wrinkled body shaking with the sound that echoed off the high ceiling of his dilapidated kitchen, mixing with the fumes of his potions.

He shivered. "And how are you going to do that?"

"While he's stuffing his face at dinner, of course. I'll do it myself, as a symbol of my own literal handiwork finally realizing my plan."

"I, uh, see." He stirred his headache potion, wishing it would be done soon so he could drink it and relieve his growing migraine. Talking to her when she was in one of her moods always disturbed him, and his brain didn't take kindly to being disturbed, often retaliating with headaches from hell itself.

She puffed her pipe, the madness slowly fading from her eyes. He stirred his potion slowly, mind wandering through ways to appease his conscience, whose only warning seemed to be that just standing back and letting the Potter boy die would be very, very bad. It wouldn't say why, but since when have anyone's instincts made logical sense?

"What are you making?" She stood by his elbow, rising onto the tips of her toes to see the color of the potion. "Having headaches, are you?"

"Yes, and could you please not stand so close? You're making me nervous."

She snickered. "Am I?"

He glared. "I'm not dignifying that with an answer, you little-"

"Excuse me?" she snapped, her tone warning him to reign in his temper.

"Nothing and I apologize. I've just been…having trouble sleeping."

"Oh. Is there something on you mind?"

He didn't answer. He had made his decision, and Harry Potter would not die tonight, for the sake of life as he knew it.

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Harry observed the gradual change in his classmates, watching their spirits droop farther and farther as strange accidents and outright murders filled the news every day, some of it with personal significance to them and some simply upsetting because of the principle of it.

The Nigerian Trio, who had abolished the stubborn slavery that had lingered for too many centuries in their magical kingdoms and brought peace at last to their troubled countries, were all found dead in their beds, a perfect nine-pointed star carved into their chests. The news had shaken every corrupt politician still alive, and many now refused to leave their homes. The only party benefitting from this new reign of terror were the Warding and Binding companies, who were now enlisted by rich and poor to secure their homes and persons.

Harry wondered, neglecting as usual to take notes on what Professor Binns was saying if whoever was killing the people in the papers was the same person controlling the Death Eaters.

Since he was finished with dinner and Draco was on a weekend visit to his mother to meet with their bankers (he did not appreciate sleeping alone for three whole nights), he nodded to Ron and Hermione before leaving the Great Hall.

Wandering through the halls, enjoying the silence broken only by shifting suits of armor and gossiping portraits, he let his thoughts drift to the future and what he was going to do about Voldemort. Dying was no longer an option, even if he _did _take the bastard with him, and he hadn't gotten a single clue about what he was planning.

In short, he was stumped. How do you fight an opponent you can neither see nor hear?

The doors leading out onto the grounds were just ahead, and he quickened his pace, glad he had his robes on for once since the spring evenings were chilly by the Lake, and he was sure the Giant Squid wouldn't be averse to munching on the bread rolls he had taken with him in a napkin.

Outside the moon was just rising, fat and as gold as his House colors, over the Forbidden Forest. A cool wind blew, but it wasn't as bad as he was expecting for which he was grateful. The cold was refreshing, and he found himself smiling sadly and wishing that Draco was here to enjoy this with him.

He slipped just a little on the muddy path, switching to the damp grass and shivering as his ankles were soaked gradually while he made his way to the water, catching sight of a tentacle already waving him over.

Just as he unfolded his napkin to feed it, someone clapped a hand over his mouth, the glove it was encased in smelling of something horrible-

Everything went black.

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End chapter 29


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Harry awoke on something warm and soft, old quilts pulled cozily around him to the neck and the pillow beneath his head thick and obviously made with real feathers rather than the shitty Muggle fluff.

"Ugh..." He rubbed his eyes, wondering when he had gone to bed and why he was only wearing his school shirt-

Wait…what?!

He sat straight up, smacking his head on someone else's forehead. They simultaneously groaned and Harry squinted through the bright spots in his vision to see a well-preserved middle-aged man with long blonde curls.

"Uh, who are you?"

"I'm Gellert, and sorry about that shoddy introduction. I was just checking you for fever, and you just snapped up like you'd been frisked by a ghost!" Gellert chuckled, placing his broad palm across Harry's forehead. "You're just a little warm, so I'd suggest you stay in bed for the next few hours and I'll make you some tea, alright?"

"Oh, thanks. Can I ask you a question, Gellert?"

"Of course." His smile was wide and reassuring, and Harry found himself trusting him despite just having met him.

"Where am I?"

"In a section of Iceland that doesn't technically exist; this is my summer house."

"Oh."

"I'm going to go make that tea. Try to get some sleep while I'm steeping it, which takes while if one expects to get any benefit from it." And with a final smile, his host exited what Harry could now perceive to be a small bedroom, with sloped ceilings belying it as an attic room, walls peeling three different layers of outdated wallpaper. The carpet was thick and soft-looking from what he could see, and flopping an arm over the side of the bed to test it proved his theory correct. Overall, it was a very soothing and comfortable room, and he dozed off in no time.

He should have been worried about where he was and how he had gotten there, but he was too tired to care.

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"Gellert, do you have any idea what happened last night?"

"Hm?" He looked up from staring into the swirling tea leaves, Naomi's head in the grate of his fireplace making him jump.

"It's horrifying! I had everything set up, just as it was supposed to be, and do you know what happened?"

"Um…you got bored?"

"No! He wasn't there! Harry-fucking-Potter has disappeared off the face of the earth, and the entire Wizarding world is panicking!"

"Isn't this good, though? The Dementors can't feed off of-"

"I don't care! I had it all planned out so nicely, and everything else worked so well and then he just up and gets kidnapped!"

He stirred the tea, wondering if he should add honey or sugar. He reached for the honey jar, mildly asking, "Not that I don't find this fascinating, but why are you telling me? I practically gave you my favorite house and several very valuable books to bug off and rule the world by yourself."

"I…" She opened and closed her mouth quite comically.

"Yes?"

"Have a nice day, Gellert."

"Thanks. You too, Naomi."

She ended the fire-call, and he grinned fiercely. The Muggle bomb he'd set in the concrete of his basement was scheduled to go off in two minutes, exactly at 9 in the morning. He had picked that number for the sake of irony, the number nine, as fickle as the Death card in a tarot deck, mixed with the sure sunshine of bright morning. He wondered if her soul would appreciate it while she was enduring whatever eternal punishment the beings beyond life chose to give someone as literally rotten as her.

Upstairs, Harry Potter stirred, a calm smile on his face. The clouds on his horizon had suddenly disappeared, and even in sleep he could sense their absence.

00000000

Draco was frantic. It was Monday morning, and he had nearly gone mad last night after reading the special edition of the Daily Prophet proclaiming the Boy-Who-Lived's disappearance. He had simply vanished from not only Hogwarts, but the face of the earth. The Ministry was using even experimental search tactics, trying to find something, anything, letting them know that he was not dead.

And now, at exactly noon, their monitors had gone off, letting them know that Harry Potter was once again in Hogwarts, and completely unharmed.

Draco's only hope was that he could push his way through the crowd of anxious classmates crowded at the doors to the Hospital Wing where Harry was being examined 'just in case', to see for himself that he was really alright.

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End chapter 30

The next chapter will either be the last one or the second-to-last. Merry Christmas, peeps.

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	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Catching sight of each other, Harry politely asked Madam Pomphrey if she could let his boyfriend into the Hospital Wing to see him. She looked upset about having to break her unspoken 'no visitors' rule, but nodded anyway.

"Thank you!"

She waved him off, flicking her wand at the doors and letting them open just enough for Draco to slip inside. He immediately shattered the peace by sprinting across the room and very nearly tackling Harry, Muggle football style.

"Mr. Malfoy! Do _not _make me regret my decision to let you inside!"

He guiltily climbed off of Harry from where he'd pinned him to the nearest hospital cot, standing like a scolded child next to his bewildered boyfriend, who was trying his best to get his hair back into order.

"Thank you. Now, Mr. Potter, are you absolutely sure that the tea you consumed was unpoisoned?"

"Yes, Madam Pomphrey, I am still as sure as I was last time you asked."

She wagged a finger. "Don't you lip off to me! Oh, and I formally pronounce you to be in sound health despite that fever you claim to have recovered from…I found no such traces of fever but of course nobody cares what I think, I'm just a Healer…" She was muttering to herself now, putting her supplies in order.

"So, does this mean I'm dismissed?"

"Yes, you may go."

"Thank you! Come on, let's go, Draco!"

0000000

The last months of school flew by, and everyone seemed as lively as Harry felt. He couldn't explain why, but everything seemed to be right with the world once again. Not to mention that some very competent new leaders had risen up internationally, many of the problems that had cropped up while their previous leaders had been dead being solved quickly and efficiently.

Hermione and Ron were tentatively dating, after an awkward but very blunt conversation about their feelings at a party celebrating the finding of Tom Riddle's (a.k.a. Voldemort) dead body, a 'victory' that the Minister of Magic was claiming credit for despite the injuries on the ex-Dark Lord's body being obviously from a group of wild animals rather than spell work of any conceivable kind.

Harry didn't particularly care about any of this, however. He was very content right now, sprawled on a white sofa next to a wide series of floor-to-ceiling windows, Draco curled up beside him fast asleep.

Courtesy of Gellert, with whom Harry had become something of a pen pal, they were living very comfortably in a retreat of his that he had gotten tired of. In his words, 'the mountains weren't really his cup of tea', which is why he was living in the Bahamas and writing his life memoirs. Draco had been dubious at first, since his first experience with the Swiss Alps had been when he was eight and he had broken his leg on a slope after entering into skiing far more enthusiastically than is safe, but as soon as he had seen the nice two-bedroom apartment dug into the side of a mountain, he had reconsidered. Since the Malfoy property was very small now, they had had just enough to furnish it and sold anything else that they weren't using, haunted family heirloom or otherwise, to various pawn shops in Diagon Alley. Narcissa had liked it too, and so far had been very nice to Harry no matter what differences of opinion he had been expecting. In fact, they'd almost become something of friends, discovering last month that they liked the same kinds of books and shared the same disdain for Gilderoy Lockhart-style writers.

Draco stirred beside him on the sofa, nuzzling his nose into Harry's shoulder and murmuring something too quiet for Harry to catch. His tea had gone cold, cradled in his hands, but he took a sip anyway. It was bitter, and he grimaced.

"Do you want some more tea, love?" Narcissa had floated silently into the room as she was wont, and he nearly dropped his mug. She snickered.

"Yeah, that would be nice. Do you want any help?"

"No, Inky's come to stay for the week and he's very eager to be of service."

"Oh, I didn't know that…did he come this morning?"

"I'm not sure. He just pops up when it pleases him…I'll never get used to that…" She wandered out of the room, pausing to straighten her skirt half-way through.

He rolled his eyes, stage-whispering, "I see where Draco gets his vanity!" and laughing when she jumped and blushed self-consciously.

"Shut up!"

He never got tired of rubbing a forty-something year old woman the wrong way.

"Harry?"

"Hm?" He looked down at Draco, who was awake now.

"Do you want to get married?"

He blinked. "Can men do that? I sort of consider us married as it is…"

"Me too, but I want to make it official, and we're both of age so nobody can stop us from exchanging rings and the like."

Harry considered, and then shrugged. "Why not?"

"Good, because I already got you your ring." Draco craned his neck and kissed him, smiling when Harry pulled him closer.

They decided to ignore Narcissa's screeching about her eyes.

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End chapter 31

End Delinquent Hope

I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it, and Merry Christmas, Happy Mithras, and I wish a great New Years upon you all. All my love!


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